Shelter From The Storm
by tlyxor1
Summary: When Rose woke up in the hospital wing, she didn't expect a remorseful Cedric Diggory sitting at her bedside. She certainly didn't expect to befriend the boy, never mind what followed next. Prisoner of Azkaban AU. Part 1 Complete. Indefinite Hiatus. fem!Harry. fem!Neville. Gen.
1. Part One: Chapter One

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** When Rose woke up in the hospital wing, she didn't expect a remorseful Cedric Diggory sitting at her bedside. She certainly didn't expect to befriend the boy - let alone what followed next. Prisoner of Azkaban AU. fem!Harry.

**Rating:** T for mild violence and language.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Chapter One **

When Rose Potter came to consciousness, she took the opportunity of peace to remember the events from before her unwilling sabbatical. She didn't need to open her eyes to know where she was. She could feel the starched linens of the Hogwarts infirmary beneath her fingers, and the pervasive smell of antiseptic had become entirely too familiar to her over the last few years. She opened her eyes, however, because she could hear someone breathing beside her, and in her experience, it generally meant something important. Dumbledore or Dobby, she'd learned that it was wise not to ignore whomever thought it necessary to guard over her comatose form.

Outside the hospital wing, through the windows at the end of the room, sundown painted the clouded sky an array of pastels. The storm had abated, the rain had passed for a time, and she wished she had her camera on hand, because the sight was one to behold.

Beside her, still in his quidditch robes, hair tousled and pewter eyes downcast, Cedric Diggory sat in one of the uncomfortable infirmary chairs, uncharacteristically sombre. She blinked at his presence, because Rose was certain she'd never spoken a word to the Hufflepuff in her life, but there he was, with the snitch in his callused hands, and a frown on his face.

Was that it? Had he come to brag? Rose didn't like to think badly of people unless they genuinely deserved it, and Merlin knew she didn't have anything bad to say about the Hufflepuff seeker beyond the usual trash talk of opposing teams, but she couldn't fathom as to why else he'd be seated by her bedside when he rightfully should have been celebrating.

That said, she'd not thought he was the kind to brag, though he _did_ sort of deserve to after the game they'd just endured. It had been hellish to start with, though it had only gotten worse as the hours had dragged by. It was as though they'd been forced to play in the midst of a cyclone, and it was no wonder Slytherin had pulled out while they'd still had the chance. If the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were weaker players, it could have ended in disaster, but the members of both teams were strong flyers, and too stubborn to forfeit besides. The storm had ensured piss poor visibility and frankly ridiculous winds, and with the unforeseen addition of dementors, Rose was a goner. It was simply a wonder no one else was in the infirmary under Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies as well.

Thank Merlin for small favours, she supposed.

He must have heard her stir, or at the very least, he'd felt Rose watching him, because Diggory looked up then, and his expression morphed into something more akin to relief, and the smile he wore seemed to transform him. She'd known the fifth year was handsome, because Merlin knew she and the chasers had shamelessly gushed about him in the privacy of their locker room, but the expression focused solely on Rose had her heart skipping a beat, and she suddenly found herself speechless.

"You're awake," he said plainly, and Rose arched an unimpressed eyebrow. That was blatantly obvious and her expression must have said as much, because the fifth year blushed red and stammered something incomprehensible, uncharacteristically flustered. He'd always seemed so composed when Rose had come across him in the past, charismatic and charming. He was able to reel their peers in without them realising it, and she wondered if he was aware of the effect he had on them. She wondered also why he was so out of sorts _now_, a far cry from the behaviour she'd come to associate with the Hufflepuff.

Before Rose could get the chance to question Diggory about his presence beside her bed, or about the reason why he was so out of sorts, however, Madam Pomfrey bustled through the divide between her privacy curtains, approached her bedside, and unceremoniously handed the third year a block of chocolate. She'd picked up a rant that Rose was sure she'd missed the first half of, about the danger of quidditch and dementors and how Rose was determined to see the woman completely grey by the time her tenure as a Hogwarts students was over. Through it all. Rose nibbled at the chocolate offered, content to savour in the warmth the sweet offered, and content to worry about Diggory's presence in the hospital wing after Madam Pomfrey let them be.

"You'll have to stay overnight, just so I can make sure you suffer no lingering effects from the dementors, but otherwise, you're in pristine condition."

Rose smiled gratefully at the Hogwarts matron, confident in her belief that she had Madam Pomfrey to thank for that. At the start of her first year, the woman had pumped her full of nutritional supplements, magical inoculations and an apothecary's worth of healing potions to see Rose grow into optimal physical form for an eleven year old girl, and despite the fact that her report to the appropriate authorities seemed to have gone nowhere, Rose would always feel grateful for the mediwitch's support. Even if only for a listening ear, the teenaged girl knew she could rely on Madam Pomfrey, and that was a certainty that couldn't be shaken.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," she acknowledged, and with a tender card of the woman's worn fingers through Rose's sable hair, the witch left Rose's bedside with a stern directive towards Diggory to make sure the Gryffindor got some rest.

The two students watched her leave, and when she'd disappeared out of sight and hearing range, Rose let her head loll to the side, still confused by the presence of her Hufflepuff counterpart by her bedside. She met his gaze with her own, a clash of green against a grey flecked blue. He was truly entrancing, really, with golden brown hair, high cheekbones, and a thin nose. Rose had to mentally shake herself before she got lost in the swirling depths of eyes that she couldn't decide the primary colour of, and she'd never been so captivated by someone before.

"Congratulations on your win," she said, and the words felt hollow in the space between them. he grimaced in response, and Rose supposed he felt the same. It was refreshing, she decided, because after Draco Malfoy and his sore loser tendencies, it was nice to know the Hufflepuff seeker didn't indulge in cheap victories.

"It doesn't really feel like much of a win," he admitted.

Rose shrugged. "Play hard, win hard." She smiled sardonically. "I'm just glad it wasn't Malfoy. I'd have never heard the end of it, otherwise."

Diggory smiled at that, and he conceded the point with a nod of agreement. "I'm sorry I didn't see you fall. By the time I had, I'd already caught the snitch, and I was too far to catch you. I feel awful about it, and I just wanted to apologise."

He truly looked it, too, earnest an mournful, as though someone had died. His hair was a mess, and there was a frown on his face, and Rose was uncertain how to tell him that he was not to blame in a way that would ensure he'd actually believe her.

"It's not your fault," she contested, "The dementors are hell…"

Cedric grimaced his agreement, but to Rose, it seemed as though the unnecessary guilt lingered. "They're awful. Dumbledore was apoplectic after you fell. Rumour is, he's been in his office arguing with the Minister of Magic for _hours_."

"Here's to hoping he can get them gone," Rose acknowledged, though she wouldn't hold her breath. She admitted as much, and the Hufflepuff seemed surprised by her cynicism. He didn't contest her words though, and rather, he seemed to agree with them. The topic wasn't pursued further, however, because in Hogwarts, it went without saying that everywhere had ears, and their thoughts regarding Dumbledore were better left unsaid. Instead, he asked about her wellbeing, and Rose was confused by his concern.

Perhaps it was just the guilt.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm alright," she answered, She thought about the dementors, about the memory they raised from the far reaches of her mind, and smiled bitterly. "I'll live. Do you know what happened to my broom?"

He grimaced, and gestured to the indistinguishable lump at the foot of her bed. It was something unidentifiable wrapped up in cloth, and the sympathetic expression on the Hufflepuff's face was all the explanation Rose really needed.

"When you fell off, the winds carried it directly into the path of the Whomping Willow. Madam Hooch said it's irreparable."

"How nice," she deadpanned, but a part of her had broken inside, and Rose didn't think she'd ever be able to treasure another broom like her beloved Nimbus 2000. Against the wrath of the Willow, her baby would have been snapped like a twig underfoot, and she wasn't particularly surprised by Madam Hooch's assessment. "That blows."

Conversation idled after that, Rose lost in thoughts, and Diggory unsure of what to say, but before things could get awkward, Madam Pomfrey bustled back in, a tray in hand. On it, a bowl of broth, a small bread roll and a glass of water had been set for Rose, and the girl pulled herself up eagerly, mildly hungry despite herself. The cloying sweetness of the Honeyduke's chocolate burned at the back of her throat, and she was eager to wash away the taste, broth or no, so she ate with restrained enthusiasm, entirely aware that the Hufflepuff watched her all the while.

"I'm glad you're alright, Potter."

"Thanks for your concern," Rose acknowledged, settled back against her pillows, "You're sweet."

He blushed and stammered, and Rose was endeared. She smiled her mirth, he smiled sheepishly, and climbed to his feet.

"I'd better go. Curfew's soon."

"You should," Rose agreed, "Enjoy your victory while you can." With a wink, she added, "Next time, I'll win."

He chuckled, carded a hand through his hair, and made for the divide between her privacy screen with a grin over his shoulder. "We'll see about that, Potter. Good night."

Rose returned the farewell in kind, watched the Hufflepuff leave, and settled back to sleep when the older boy was gone. The smile on her face lingered into her dreams, and she thought Cedric Diggory was a pretty cool bloke, all things considered. She hoped he could become a friend, because Rose could use all of those she could get - the genuine kind, anyway. She could count on two hands the people she was genuinely close with, but she could write a laundry list of the people she associated with on a daily basis. The contrast was depressing, but sometimes, fair-weather friends were unavoidable. The Girl Who Lived was a legend most every one of her peers had grown up with, and Rose had accepted that there would always be people in her life determined only to receive their fifteen minutes of fame.

It had been a hard lesson to learn, but after her first and second years, learn it she had. Rose liked to think she'd come out better for it, if more jaded and cynical than she already had been after a life under the Dursleys' tender mercies, but there were other times she wished she didn't have to be so guarded. She knew what it felt like to be hurt by those one called friends, however, and it was a pain she had no desire to endure again. If that meant people like Cedric Diggory would have to prove themselves before she'd trust them, before she'd let them past her walls, than so be it.

With how many times she'd been let down by those she should have been able to rely on, it was a wonder she was willing to let people in at all, truly, but Rose _knew_ there was good in people. She'd seen it already, in the primary school teachers who'd tried their hardest to make her life better, in Madam Pomfrey, and the friends she'd gained since she'd started at Hogwarts. She hoped Cedric Diggory was like those friends of hers, but that was something she'd have to learn over time. A part of Rose couldn't wait to find out.

**Author's Note:** Because apparently, I have the attention span of a gnat. Enjoy.


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

**Shelter From the Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two **

"Between 1689 and 1692, the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was implemented across the known world. How did this impact both sides of the muggle and magical divide?"

With a roll of her eyes, Rose Potter gave a heartfelt groan, banished her borrowed Ancient Runes textbooks to the shelving tray, and withdrew her History of Magic research journal. She at least had until the end of term to finish the four foot monstrosity that Professor Binns had assigned, but it was already mid-November, and she wasn't one to leave things until the last minute when she could help it - particularly when she had eight other subjects - and their respective assessment tasks - to worry about.

With that in mind, Rose clambered to her feet, approached the History of Magic section, and began her perusal of the books available there. She'd already taken notes from her assigned textbook, but it was time to find alternative secondary sources, and later, she'd question portraits and ghosts who'd been around at the time. It was a resource none of her fellow peers had considered, but it ensured an O grade average for History of Magic, so Rose wasn't about to complain.

"I didn't realise you wore glasses."

Rose looked up from the shelves to see Cedric Diggory approach her from the other end of the aisle. Handsome as ever, and clad in his school uniform, he scrutinised her face, and she touched the square rimmed frames subconsciously, shrugged, and returned to her examination of the stacks. All the while, her awareness of his presence beside her made her magic thrum as though she'd just touched a live wire, and she wondered about this boy's effect on her.

"I'm far sighted. I mostly just use them to read, and for homework assignments."

She'd used to have to wear these awful coke-bottle glasses courtesy of her relatives, but Madam Pomfrey had helped Rose replace them with the pair she currently wore, and they ensured she was a lot less insecure about needing them. Rose still didn't like to wear them as a general rule, but it beat damaging her sight further, and at the very least, she hadn't inherited her father's need to wear them for everything.

"They suit you," he offered, "Make you look… older, more distinguished, I guess."

Rose blushed at the compliment, gnawed at her lower lip, and retrieved one of the textbooks she'd been considering earlier. She hugged it to her chest, and eyed the Hufflepuff curiously.

"What brings you to the History of Magic section? Not to compliment me on my glasses, surely?"

"If only," he answered faux mournfully. "The same reason as you, I'd gather: History of Magic research."

"Of course," she acknowledged. They took a few moments to enquire about each other's essays, but the book in her hands grew heavy, and she smiled. "I'll leave you to your research, then."

Rose gave him a slight wave, turned on her heel, and returned to her table with her cheeks dusted pink. She immersed herself in her study, and it wasn't until Madam Pince approached her, that Rose realise that curfew fell in half an hour. She packed up her things, signed out her current textbook, and made her way to the exit.

"Potter, wait up."

Rose slowed to a stop as Diggory checked out his own textbook, and with a wave of farewell to the aged, taciturn librarian, she exited, the older Hufflepuff on her heels. They'd shared a few brief, fleeting conversations in the last week, small talk as they passed each other in hallways, but she was still surprised by his newfound presence in her life.

"What can I do for you?" She queried.

"Nothing," he shrugged, "I just didn't want you to walk alone."

Rose paused, uncertain if she should be insulted or flattered. She was perfectly capable of managing the trek to Gryffindor Tower alone, but on the other hand, no boy had ever gone out of their way to simply walk with her.

It was probably safer, anyway. Sirius Black had made it known that he could enter the castle undetected, and even though she was kind of skeptical about the claim that he was after Rose herself, it was probably best if she wasn't caught out alone. All the same, she felt somewhat like an inconvenience, and the feeling was one she didn't appreciate.

"Isn't Hufflepuff downstairs?"She was sure she'd heard somewhere that their common room was on the basement level, but in truth, Rose had never been interested enough to find out.

He shrugged and tapped at the prefect's badge on his blazer. "I have time."

Rose shrugged her acquiescence, tucked her hands into the pockets of her blazer, and walked with the Hufflepuff in a surprisingly companionable silence. She was still confused as to why he had repeatedly sought her out after the game, but Rose wasn't really inclined to ask. She enjoyed his presence, after all, and unless the occasion truly called for it, she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If it meant another opportunity to try and understand this curious boy, than she wasn't going to complain.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Rose arched a curious eyebrow, shrugged, and waited expectantly. He looked hesitant, and she wondered if he was going to put his foot in it and ask about _that_ night. Ron Weasley had done that the first time they'd met, and Rose had nearly punched him in the face. Two years later, she still couldn't look at him without glaring.

"Why do you make people call you Rose?"

"Guinevere makes me sound like a pretentious snot, and in primary school, there was already a girl who used the name 'Gwen'. Rose has just stuck."

"Do you like it?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I haven't really thought about it. It's just what I'm used to. It's sort of nice to disassociate myself from Gwen Potter, Girl Hero, anyway."

He was thoughtful after that, and Rose left him to his contemplations.

The castle was mostly quiet since their classmates had more or less retreated to the warmth and comfort of common rooms and dormitories. Winter had made its presence known with a vengeance, and after sundown, the castle proper was nothing short of freezing. She wondered if the presence of the dementors had contributed to the unseasonable chill, but beyond a vague enquiry for Professor Lupin, she'd not really been inclined to investigate the topic further.

Brought from her thoughts when she reached the portrait guardian protecting the tower, Rose smiled at the Hufflepuff, thanked him for the company, and slipped into her common room. The portrait clicked shut behind her, and Rose shuffled passed her gathered housemates, thoughts already on the bed that awaited her, charmed warm by the house elves, and a heavenly temptation after a long day. She'd had quidditch training in the morning, and of course her classes, and Rose was glad it was Friday.

Inside the dormitory she shared with the girls in her year, Rose found Nora already there, occupied with the task of wrangling her light brown hair into a set of twin braids. She gave Rose a grin through the reflection of the vanity mirror, Rose returned it, and deposited her messenger bag on her small study desk.

The dorm room was charmed to be larger on the inside than strictly possible, able to fit six four poster beds, the accompanying bedside tables, and an identical number of claw foot wardrobes, vanities, and study desks. They had a solitary bathroom across the hall, and a fluffy red rug in the centre of the room, and yet, Rose was just eager for the day she no longer had to share with five other girls and the contrasting personalities therein. Their dorms for the next two years would be fitted for only two, and Rose already had dibs on sharing with Nora.

Eleanor, or rather, Nora Longbottom was her best friend at Hogwarts, and had been since they sat together on that first train journey, a pair of scared, orphan first years with the expectations of others heavy on their respective shoulders. They'd bonded over that, and by the time they'd entered their dorm room that night, they'd been fast friends. Two years later, after a few near death experiences, confronting fears and such things, that hadn't changed, and Rose hoped it never would.

"There's a letter on your bedside table," Nora informed her, "It arrived with Hedwig. From Mr Tate, I think."

Rose picked up the parchment envelope, eyed the looping cursive curiously, and cracked the wax seal open with a thoughtful frown. Alastair Tate, her solicitor, always had an important reason to write her, and she doubted this time would be no exception. She was surprised, then, to learn that the man would be visiting her in person the following morning, because apparently, the information he had to share was too sensitive to put in a letter, and it would also allow him to visit with his son, Gabriel, afterwards.

"Everything alright?" Nora enquired.

"Mr Tate's coming to Hogwarts to meet with me tomorrow," Rose answered. She dropped the letter onto her desk, kicked off her shoes, and made herself comfortable across her bed with a contented hum. "I wonder what he wants?"

"I guess you'll find out," Nora shrugged. "How'd you go at the library?"

Rose waved off the question, clambered to her feet, and began the process of getting ready for bed. It involved a skin routine she'd begun over the holidays, and a dental routine she'd maintained since her childhood, but as she changed into her winter pyjamas, their dormitory door was thrown open, and Hermione Granger stalked in, angry tears on her cheeks, fists clenched at her sides, and her mouth pulled into an angry scowl. her hair seemed to have come alive with her temper, and there was really only one thing that could make the girl so angry.

Nora looked at Rose. "Weasley, again?"

"Who else?" Rose returned, "Stupid prat." To Hermione, she queried, "What did that pillock do now?"

What followed was an angry rant Rose supposed had been building up for months. Between the issue regarding Crookshanks and Scabbers, Ron's lazy tendencies, and Hermione's hectic schedule, it was a wonder the blow up hadn't occurred sooner.

Rose listened absently as she combed her hair, mildly curious about why Hermione tolerated the ginger git. He was an intolerant, narrow-minded snot most days, and it was obvious to everyone except perhaps Hermione herself that he only used her for homework help. Rose herself wondered how he could be related to people as cool as Fred and George, or someone so ambitious as Percy, but as Hermione's rant came to an end, the last Potter supposed she'd not be finding out anytime soon.

"I don't know why you're friends with him, Hermione," Rose commented, "He's not a good friend to you."

"It's not like people are lining up to be friends with me," Hermione answered dejectedly. Rose sighed.

Hermione had made a poor impression at the start of their first year, and even though she'd changed her habits since then, the label of 'teacher's pet' had stuck. It would take something massive to change the perception, but without Hermione willing to submit to a makeover by Lavender and Parvati, Rose couldn't work out how else to instigate that kind of catalyst.

"You've got us," Nora reminded her, "And I don't know, I think I'd prefer to have a couple of close girl friends than a 'best friend' who walks all over me."

Rose agreed with a nod of her head, already curled up beneath her covers. Hermione was thoughtfully silent, and the two friends left the muggleborn to her musings. Rose herself wondered about what Mr Tate would have to share with her the following day, and she fell asleep with the silent hope that it wasn't anything too awful. After he'd revealed that Sirius Black was her godfather, however, Rose wasn't going to hold her breath. The man knew how to pull his punches and truly, she appreciated his honesty. Too many adults in her life had lied or omitted too many truths for her to trust a lot of them, but Mr Tate had earned her respect, and her trust as well, and Rose liked to think he had her best interests at heart. She just hated surprises, and something told her that the following morning, that was all she'd be getting from him.

**Author's Note:** Happy Valentine's Day. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. -t.


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Three:**

In the morning, Rose stayed curled under her covers as rain poured down outside. The sun was hidden by a dark grey mass of storm clouds, the wind howled relentlessly against the windows, and the cold was uncomfortable and unwelcome, but she didn't really have the time to waste, so she showered and dressed, opting for comfort in place of style. Adorned in thermal leggings and a matching undershirt, she donned a knitted jumper over the latter, pulled a pair of socks and ugg boots on her feet, and combed her hair into a ponytail.

She contemplated breakfast, but with the promise of a bombshell later that morning, her nerves were shot to hell, and Rose didn't think she'd be able to hold anything down. Therefore, she packed her messenger bag with the things she'd need for the day, left the tower, and made her way towards Professor McGonagall's office to wait.

On her way there, Rose recalled the first time she'd met Alastair Tate, and she smiled fondly. He'd approached her on the 1st of August, 1991 and had explained his role in her life, the solicitor her father had hired after his predecessor had retired. He would have been the executor of her parents' will had it not been sealed, and in the decade since James and Lily's passing, he'd spent a great deal of time ensuring that Rose's name wasn't used for profit illegally, had been overseeing the Potter Estate, and had been petitioning for visitation since Rose had turned five.

Since then, he'd taken care to ensure that Rose was caught up with her peers in terms of magical culture and such things, had ensured her psychological and physical wellbeing, and had more or less adopted her into his family. It went without saying that Alastair Tate had gone above and beyond the call of duty, and Rose had no idea where she'd be without him.

She reached her head of house's office without incident, and she was wholly unsurprised to find that Mr Tate was already there. Tall and imposing, though kindhearted, he was a stickler for schedules, but he spared her a fond smile, gestured for the girl to seat herself in one of the available armchairs, and chatted briefly with her head of house before the woman departed, a lingering glance at Rose her only display of concern for her student.

"How are you, Rose? Is your third year treating you well?"

"It would be better without the dementors," she grimaced, "But it's alright. Same old, same old, I guess. How are you?"

They made idle conversation as Mr Tate made quick work of sorting out the files in his messenger bag. She accepted the two offered to her in silence, and though her curiosity was peaked, she didn't yet open them.

"I was finally able to have your parents' will unsealed," Mr Tate informed her, "Your letter of consent went a long way to appease the Wizengamot. It… revealed some startling information."

"Oh?"

"The will specifically states that Peter Pettigrew was your parents' secret keeper. The DMLE has chosen to re-open the case of Sirius Black, such as it were. As it happens, the will reading inadvertently revealed that Mr Black received no trial, among other things."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your godfather's guilt in your parents' murder, and the twelve muggles following them,is in question. Whatever the case, information regarding your parents' will, and regarding Mr Black as well, are in those files - feel free to peruse them at your leisure. It's all I wanted to share with you. It seemed more appropriate to do so face to face. Letters are rather impersonal, aren't they?"

Rose settled back in her seat, dumbfounded. She hadn't really known what to expect from their meeting, but these particular revelations weren't it. She was glad to have the will unsealed, however, and another part of her was glad that her suspicions regarding Mr Black had not been wrong.

"You really know how to knock the ground from beneath my feet, Mr Tate. I don't know what to say."

"I don't expect you to say anything, Rose," Alastair answered. He withdrew a form, "I'll give you time to absorb everything. You'll just have to sign this, right… here. It basically says you agree to the contents of the will, and it will stop anyone from contesting your inheritance. I've read everything, but I suggest you do the same - for security purposes. How is your Latin?"

In response, Rose grimaced her displeasure, but she accepted the form without protest, scanned through the clauses slowly, and with the blood quill Mr Tate offered to her, she penned her signature with a flourish. Her latin wasn't the greatest, but she'd learned enough to know she wasn't about to be conned out of her inheritance, and in any case, Mr Tate had sworn an oath to her father, and more recently, Rose herself, to ensure he did everything in the best interests for his client. Beyond that, she trusted him, and he'd already proved that he'd not let her down.

With everything said and done, Rose deposited the two files in her messenger bag, and walked with her lawyer to the Great Hall. He was eager to speak with his son, and Rose herself was in a daze, so they separated at the doorway with a handshake and word that they'd stay in touch, and while Mr Tate headed for the Hufflepuff table, Rose made her way to its Gryffindor counterpart, settled across from Nora, and served herself a bowl of porridge.

"How did it go?"

Rose took a moment to powder her porridge with cinnamon and brown sugar, poured herself a mug of tea, and explained the events of her morning quickly. Nora listened attentively, brown eyes calculating, and when Rose was done, she waited expectantly to hear her friend's opinion.

"Good news, I think," Nora concluded, "You can never have too many people in your corner."

The darker haired girl nodded her agreement, and turned to her breakfast in silence, ready to consider the events of that morning, and the possible repercussions therein. When word got out that Sirius Black, the scion of an Ancient and Noble house, was sent to Azkaban without a trial, their would be pandemonium, and the Wizengamot's worth as a judicial body would be called into question. Rose was uncertain of where she stood regarding that matter, or regarding the Wizengamot in general, in all honesty, but her instincts told her she'd have to decide soon, and there was really no time to waste.

"I'm going to go for a walk," Rose declared, breakfast bowl emptied, tea drained, and thoughts already on where she'd go. The torrential downpour outside limited her options to within the castle, but the place was enormous, so there was surely some place where she'd not be bothered.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Nora asked, pulled from her thoughts. She'd probably been considering the same things Rose herself had been, because as much as it concerned Rose herself, it concerned Nora too.

"No," Rose denied. She smiled weakly, "I think you and I both need to make our decisions on our own, hey?"

Nora sighed, but she didn't argue the point. Instead, she pulled back from the table, and followed Rose out of the Great Hall. From there, the two third years separated, and as Nora headed up towards Gryffindor tower, Rose headed downwards, thoughts already on the Wizengamot, what she knew of the governmental and judicial body, and what she expected from it. She found herself in the Hogwarts basement, tucked into an alcove near the kitchens, gaze on a small window that looked onto the lawns just beyond the castle. They were something like a perpetual mud bath these days, but the landscape, washed clean by the rain, was beautiful. Her fingers itched for her sketchpad and pencils, or even just her camera, but if she retrieved either, any focus on the important things would be forgotten for more enjoyable pursuits.

"Potter?"

Rose startled in fright, turned, and couldn't say she was particularly surprised to find Cedric Diggory stood in front of her, curious gaze fixed solely on her. He seemed to be the only boy whom, rather than pass her by, was actually interested in speaking with her. She didn't know why, but she enjoyed his company, and so she shuffled to the edge of the bench she was seated on, and gestured for him to take a seat beside her.

She was more surprised when he actually did.

"What are you doing here?" Diggory queried, "This isn't really your neck of the woods."

"It's not, is it?" She mused. "I was just walking - needed to think about things without Nora's influence."

"Serious things, I assume?"

"You assume right," she confirmed. "Mr Tate left me a lot to consider. It's all a little bit overwhelming."

"I can't really help you with making your own opinions - only you can do that - but my mum always says to just take one thing at a time."

Cedric smiled at her, small and sweet, but it was genuine, and it made butterflies stir in her stomach. It was almost pathetic of her, crushing on an almost-stranger as she was, but the older boy was almost excruciatingly handsome, and from their interactions recently, he was nice, too.

"Your mum sounds like a smart woman," she answered.

"_I_ think so." He clapped his hands on his thighs, got to his feet, and gave Rose an encouraging smile. "Good luck with those things bothering you, Rose. I hope it all works out for you. Just know if you ever want to talk, I'm happy to listen. I know we're not really friends, but I guess I'd like to be, so…"

He shrugged, and Rose smiled, touched by the gesture. She thanked him, he waved it off with ease, and not for the first time, she wondered about the Hufflepuff and his motives.

He left before she could ask him outright, and Rose returned her gaze to the window. As she did so, and regardless of her trust issues, the seeker couldn't shake the smile on her face, or the dusting of pink against her cheeks. Cedric Diggory had just called her Rose, and the sound of her name on his lips left her giddy.

The rain continued to fall in torrents, Rose was alone, and her thoughts were far from government, law, or politics. She'd have to determine her opinion regarding the Wizengamot's judicial powers soon, but for the moment, the teenaged girl couldn't bring herself to care. There were far more interesting things to think about, after all, like the way the grey skies offset the blue in Cedric Diggory's eyes, and how she could still feel the way her skin burned where their thighs had briefly touched. That wasn't to mention her magic, which still thrummed beneath her skin even after he was long gone.

"You're a dotty fool, Guinevere," she murmured to herself, rolled her eyes, and began the long walk back to Gryffindor tower. She hummed to herself as she walked, and her mind wandered to the files in her bag, still awaiting her attention. She wondered what she'd find in either, and asked herself if she was really prepared to find out.

In Gryffindor Tower, Rose sprawled herself across one of the window seats, cast her gaze over the washed out grounds, and took a moment to withdraw the copy of her parents' will from her bag. She'd inherited most everything, headship of the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell and all of the responsibilities, properties, gold, and accumulated knowledge and artefacts therein. The exception was 25 thousand galleons bequeathed to one Remus John Lupin, some jewellery that went to Petunia, and a lump sum of 40 thousand galleons to whomever took custody of Rose herself.

Greedy sods or not, Rose genuinely doubted that the Dursleys would touch that money with a ten foot pole, and since her placement in their tender loving care wasn't legal anyway, they wouldn't learn of it. Probably for the best, in all honesty, since her relatives had skimped on her care since the day she'd been deposited on their doorstep, and Rose wasn't so forgiving as to hand over money they didn't justly deserve.

Finally, she reached the list of would-be guardians her parents had designated, and she grimaced to herself. Frank and Alice Longbottom were incapacitated, Edgar and Ellen Bones were dead, Sirius Black was - well - a wanted felon, and Remus Lupin was, by law, unable to take custody of her. There were no other alternatives, which would have put Rose into care of the state had Dumbledore not intervened. Rose didn't want to be grateful to the old man, though, and so she tried not to think about that inconvenient truth.

It occurred to her then, that now the will was read, her guardianship would fall to Sirius Black. If not, then she'd become a ward of the state which, Rose was certain, could _not_ happen.

It suddenly became paramount that Sirius Black be tried and proven innocent, lest she become fostered into the care of a family she didn't care to associate with. It also needed to be done quickly, but Rose herself would need time to plan. It would, however, be done, or Godric help her, she'd pack up and leave the magical world, and never look back. It wasn't really something she _wanted_ to do, but she was pragmatic enough to recognise that Lucius Malfoy was too far deep in Cornelius Fudge's pockets _not_ to get his way. Unless an intervention was had, it was simply a matter of time until she wound up in his - or one of his fellows' - care, and Rose wasn't one to wait for a miracle. Instead, she'd fix the problem herself.


	4. Part One: Chapter Four

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**ChapterFour**

Rose watched Hedwig disappear out of sight, retreated from the owlery, and contemplated her plan to see Sirius Black exonerated. She wasn't certain if he was guilty of murder, at least in regards to the twelve muggle civilians killed on the 3rd of November, but it stood to reason that if he hadn't betrayed her parents to Voldemort, then he wasn't a Death Eater. Ergo, he probably hadn't killed those people. At the very least, Rose was banking on it, because otherwise, she'd be stuck up shit creek without a paddle, and that was the last place she wanted to be.

"Have you finished those long-answer questions for Professor McGonagall?"

Hermione walked beside her, the pair headed for the Great Hall. She'd been awake before Rose, content to read a book in bed until the start of breakfast. Despite the detour to the owlery, the bookworm had decided to accompany the younger girl out of the tower, and because Hermione never failed to provide intelligent conversation, Rose didn't mind the company.

"I finished them on Friday night," Rose answered, "It's just assignments this weekend, which is, you know - blech."

"It would be nice if we could use computers," Hermione conceded, "I guess the subject makes up for the effort, though."

Rose was skeptical, but she didn't contest Hermione's words. In this particular case, it was a matter of each to their own, and she wasn't really inclined to argue her point at seven o'clock in the morning. Instead, the pair discussed their homework until they'd reached the Great Hall, at which point, they settled down at the Gryffindor table, and ate their breakfast in companionable silence.

"What are you doing today?" Hermione queried.

"Researching the Wizengamot and it's competency as a judicial body," Rose answered. After that, the only thing she had planned was a callisthenics session with the quidditch team in the evening, but the girl doubted she'd spend her entire day holed up in the library.

"That sounds… controversial."

"That's because it is, or rather, it _might_ be. In any case, I have to be prepared. So… research. Joy."

"Do you want help?"

"No thanks, hermione. I appreciate the offer though."

Nora dropped gracelessly in the seat beside Rose, helped herself to the latter's mug of tea, and mumbled incomprehensibly as she served herself a breakfast of yoghurt and fruit.

"You're very welcome," Rose groused. Her tea was empty. "Whatever, I'm heading to the library."

The hallways were more or less abandoned. Most students had opted for a lie in, but courtesy of her relatives, Rose's body had been trained to wake up at dawn. By the age of twelve, she'd come to the conclusion it would be a habit inordinately difficult to break, and as things went, she wasn't even sure she wanted to. Early mornings were peaceful in a way Rose had come to appreciate, and it wasn't something the girl was really willing to give up.

Eventually, she reached the library, approached her target section with a weary sigh, and set to work.

-!- -#-

After some thought, Rose had come to the conclusion that no one would question the Wizengamot's judicial competency. She'd learned in the last two years that witches and wizards did not like change, but just in case, she intended to be prepared. She didn't like to walk blindly into anything, and nor did she like others making her decisions - particularly when she was entirely capable of making them herself.

That mindset had brought her to the Government section of the Hogwarts library. it was rarely used, but the area was devoid of dust, and it was blessedly quiet.

Rose herself was settled at a desk in the centre of the section, a variety of tomes spread out in front of her, and green eyes glazed over in thought. It had taken her three hours of solid research to decide that the Wizengamot's judicial powers were a waste of time. There was no division between criminal, civil and common law proceedings, which meant most of the Wizengamot's time was clogged up with minor issues like illegal apparition and petty theft, when they rightfully should have been more occupied with government, as was it's initial purpose three hundred years ago.

Rose had already penned a letter for Mr Tate - purely a precaution - and she had faith her regent would see her opinions expressed if the occasion ever arose. She doubted it though, but Rose had no real intention of being caught with her britches down.

What to do now, though? Hedwig was probably somewhere over the English countryside, and until Sirius Black was (presumably) exonerated, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Perhaps, then, she should work on her plan to see her godfather freed, or at the very least, tried for his crimes.

In fact, that probably should have been her priority.

With a roll of her eyes and an irritated click of her tongue, Rose stacked the pile of books in her arms, returned them to their shelves, and exited the library with long strides. She had no real idea of where she wanted to go, but eventually, she found herself in one of the unused towers, settled in a room that had seen better days, and far more spiders than Rose was comfortable with..

"Dobby."

The eccentric house elf popped into existence in front of her, tennis ball eyes bright with unadulterated delight. She'd met him the year prior, an unconventional ally against the threat of Lucius Malfoy, Tom Riddle, and the monster of Salazar Slytherin. She'd freed him from a life of servitude, and despite the fact she'd insisted that he owed her nothing, the house elf had since promised Rose his undying loyalty. It was an intimidating notion, but as Nora had said the day before, it wouldn't hurt to have one more individual in her corner.

"Rosie Potter called for Dobby?"

"Hello, Dobby," Rose greeted, "Are you busy?"

The elf shook his head in denial, and explained that he'd never be too busy for Rose. The sentiment was as much flattering as it was disconcerting, and the witch spent a moment doubting herself. She'd never felt as though she'd deserved the adulation afforded to her by the magical populace, and Dobby's hero worship was probably something Rose would never get used to. She had to do this though - for herself, if not for Black - and so Rose cemented her resolve, and addressed the elf.

"I need to ask you some questions about Lucius Malfoy and the… _people_ he once associated with."

Dobby's ears drooped, and it seemed the elf's enthusiasm wilted too, because he eyed Rose with no small degree of trepidation, and again, Rose second guessed herself. It was clearly something Dobby wasn't eager to go through, and who was she to make him miserable?

"What questions do Rosie Potter want to ask Dobby?"

Rose hesitated, but eventually decided she was selfish enough to plough on anyway. "Do you know the names of many of the Death Eaters?"

Dobby nodded his confirmation. "Wizards not being seeing house elves. Dobby knows many names."

Rose had to smirk. She thoroughly enjoyed taking advantage of other people's oversights. At the same time, she was anxious to hear the answer to her next question. "Can you tell me… was Sirius Black ever a Death Eater?"

Dobby's ears twitched. "There was being no Sirius Black. There was only being Regulus, and Bella, and Mistress, but there was being no Sirius."

Rose nodded her acknowledgement, pleased. She had no idea who Regulus and Bella were, and nor did she care about Mrs Malfoy, but her questions weren't done. "Do you know if Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater?"

"Yes. They was being calling him Wormtail - a coward. He was being a rat."

Rose, satisfied with Dobby's answers, and with no more questions besides, thanked Dobby for his time and cooperation, sent the elf on his way, and considered all that she'd learned. It was nice to receive confirmation for what she'd already assumed, but she wondered about Dobby's last answer, and particularly, the meaning behind it. It seemed that Peter Pettigrew was an animagus, and with a form that, unless he was dead, had allowed him to disappear into obscurity.

She clicked her tongue, disappointed and irritated.

That complicated things.

"What to do, what to do?"

Rose hummed thoughtfully as she left the tower. She was uncertain of where she should go from there, but with her guardianship in the balance, or at least, about to be, she felt as though there was no time to spare. mr Tate would postpone the enquiry for as long as he could, and Godric knew that the investigation into Sirius Black's guilt - or rather, the lack thereof - would slow things down exponentially, but Rose hated the uncertainty of it all, and she'd be damned if she let herself wait for someone else to sort out her problems for her.

Unconsciously, Rose's feet led her to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor's office. She stared at the door for a while, but eventually shrugged, knocked confidently, and slipped inside when Professor Lupin bade her entry. He was a beneficiary in Rose's parents' will, and she supposed that if anyone had answers for her, it was the man who'd once been a brother to James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew.

Idly, Rose considered the absolute tragedy that was the Marauders, but as she settled herself in an armchair across from the man, aged before his time, she supposed now was neither the time, nor the place, for such thoughts.

"Rose," Lupin greeted, "How may I help you?"

"I want to ask you some questions."

If it were anyone else, excepting Snape, Rose would never be so candid with a teacher. Remus Lupin had become something of a friend since the start of term, however, and if he wasn't giving her books on Intermediate and Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, then he was telling her comical anecdotes about her parents as Hogwarts students, or debating magical theory, or making her help mark first year essays. In saying that, the girl thought he wouldn't mind the abrupt nature of her conversation.

Lupin arched an inquisitive eyebrow. She wondered if he'd copied it off Snape. Rose herself had, and she took great satisfaction in using the expression against him, the greasy bastard.

"By all means, ask away."

Pulled back to the matter at hand by the sound of his voice, Rose steeled her resolve, and proceeded to turn Lupin's worldview upside down. She didn't even mean to, but the truth generally had a way of doing that, and Rose wasn't really one for subtlety.

**Author's Note:** I'm interested to read your opinions regarding Rose's character.

Hope you've enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.


	5. Part One: Chapter Five

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Five:**

"You know Sirius Black best. Why would he want to break into Gryffindor Tower?"

Lupin propped his elbows on the edge of his desk, steepled his fingers, and contemplated the desktop. He seemed to have come to terms with her revelations with a certain dignity that Rose admired, but as his thoughts whirled behind amber eyes, and as his lips narrowed into a thin line, Rose wondered if he'd simply opted to set his shock aside for other - more pressing - matters.

"I couldn't say with absolute certainty," Lupin answered, "Twelve years can change anybody, never mind twelve years in _Azkaban_. Rumour is, however, that he's after revenge, and you'd never hear me say that's something new for him. If what you said is true, than the only possibility is - well - Peter, but Sirius killed him years ago."

"Can you confirm that with absolute certainty, Professor?"

"All they found of him was a finger."

The silence between them was almost palpable, full of unanswered questions and possibilities neither had dared to dream of. Isolation had become familiar friends for both of them, and now, could they hope? Would they dare?

"A rat animagus," Rose mused, "Good to get out of tight spots, wouldn't it?"

Lupin's mind whirled with the possibilities, remembered and imagined, and he seemed to pale. His complexion, already fair, was almost sallow, and the man looked as though he were about to be ill.

"Again, I ask, why would Sirius Black want to break into Gryffindor Tower?"

It had been over a fortnight earlier, but Rose hadn't forgotten the sight of the Fat Lady's portrait shredded to ribbons, the woman herself traumatised out of her mind. They were stuck with a frankly ridiculous substitute until the Fat Lady was willing to return to her post, not to mention until the canvas was repaired, and for some reason, she'd fixated on that moment.

It didn't make sense.

The castle's every occupant had been inside the Great Hall. Disregarding that glaringly obvious issue, he'd not have been able to bypass the wards protecting the girl's dormitories. It was simply one of those accepted facts of life as a Gryffindor, and Sirius Black, as a Gryffindor alumni himself, would have known it.

"Pettigrew can't very well hide in the tower. Someone would have noticed a fully grown man peeping on the students."

"Which leaves only one alternative," Lupin concluded. "Do you know anyone in Gryffindor who has a rat missing a toe?"

A memory, dredged up from somewhere in the back of her mind, of that first, disastrous train ride to Hogwarts, came to the fore, and Rose grimaced. Ron Weasley, bottomless pit, scruffy, with a decrepit pet rat, sans a toe, and more likely to sleep all day than to perform unexciting parlour tricks. She'd stared, aghast and disgusted, as the boy held the _thing_ in his bare hands, as though it wasn't likely to be carrying a million and one diseases throughout it's lifetime. Rose had told Ron Weasley, in no uncertain terms, to never bring that walking germ factory anywhere near her before she'd left the compartment, and she'd not seen the rodent since.

It was still around though. Goodness knew, Ron and Hermione argued over the enmity between _Scabbers_ and Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, often enough.

"Yes, actually," Rose answered, "I _do_ know someone like that."

-!Professor Lupin went very still and his eyes, amber and warm, acquired a distinctly _golden_ gleam. Gone was the genial, kind-hearted man she'd come to know, and in his stead, there remained the monster Remus feared. Gwen stilled under his gaze, suddenly very aware of _why_ the wolf was such a threat. She was prey caught in the sights of a predator, and even as Gwen marvelled at the juxtaposition of Remus, the man, and Remus, the wolf, the hairs on the back of her neck had been raised, and she had to fight the basic instinct to _run the goddamn hell away._

"Show me."

Gwen obeyed without protest.

She darted through the hallways and the passageways she'd discovered over the years, Professor Lupin on her heels, until they'd reached Gryffindor Tower. It was the start of the two hour lunch block, so a fair number of Gryffindors had made a mass exodus some minutes earlier, but a few first years lingered, as did a number of fifth and seventh years inclined to take advantage of the quiet.

"Ron normally leaves Scabbers in the dorm," Gwen explained, "I heard Henry bi-err… complaining about it to Fay…"

She darted up the staircase to the boy's dormitory, and came to a stop on the third landing. The door was thrown open, the room beyond a pigsty, but stretched out on Ron Weasley's pillow, Scabbers slept on, undisturbed.

"I'll be damned," Lupin murmured, a rumbling undertone to his voice that, to Gwen, was particularly disconcerting. She watched, transfixed, as the man cast a few diagnostics spells over the sleeping rodent, stunned the creature, and pocketed it with a rumbling growl from deep within his chest. "It seems I have to pay a visit to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Gwen nodded slowly, followed the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor back towards the entry of Gryffindor Tower, and was at a loss of what to do next. Lupin promised to see that justice was properly served, but as he retreated from the common room, Gwen watched him in a daze, incredulous that everything had happened so quickly. She was grateful that the man hadn't gone into an apoplectic rage - though she wouldn't have blamed him if he had - but surely, things couldn't be so easy?

Rose was not an optimist. She liked to consider herself a realist, in those rare moments she thought about existentialism and whatnot. Her life, though not nearly so bad as it could have been, had not been the easiest, and Rose had come to expect that it would stay that way. There were highlights, Mr Tate, Nora, more recently, Professor Lupin and Hermione, but hardship had almost become standard, so the current absence was discomforting.

"What was that about?" Percy Weasley enquired.

Rose grinned, though there was no mirth behind it. "Justice."

Before she could be questioned further, the Gryffindor seeker retreated from the tower, made her way to the Great Hall, and found Nora and Hermione bowed over a Teen Witch Weekly magazine, sniggering intermittently. Lavender and Parvati were scowling at them from several seats down, and it didn't take Rose long to realise they were mocking the tabloid, as they did every week. Rose thought it was a useless waste of money, but it was entertaining, if nothing else, and so she joined in without ado, and for a time, her cares were left to the wayside.

Eventually though, Hermione retreated to the library to work on their History of Magic assignment, and Nora made her way to the greenhouses to help Professor Sprout with a variety of plants Rose would sooner do without. She'd grown up working in Petunia's garden, but when it came to magical plants, Rose was a lost cause, and in truth, the seeker was fine with that. Magical plants - at least those Rose had the misfortune of encountering - had a tendency to be dangerous, and as things were, Rose already had to deal with enough trouble without the addition of man-eating flowers and such things.

Suddenly free for an afternoon, and not inclined to bury herself in more assignments, Rose found her way to the old observatory, settled herself on one of the couches there, and withdrew her sketchbook and pencils from her bag. Her art was her hobby, one she could and would get lost in for hours. She'd made it a habit to seek out the old observatory to draw in, because the room, with it's glass walls and domed glass ceiling, provided frankly astonishing views of the Hogwarts grounds, and beyond that, it was rarely ever frequented by her peers. Her friends, Nora and Hermione, and even the quidditch team, knew where she went, but more often than not, they left her to her peace, and Rose appreciated them more for it.

In a daze, Rose's pencil danced across a blank page, and later, as she scrutinised the sketch of Cedric Diggory, Rose thought she might have just delved into the realm of stalkers everywhere.

Or at the very least, the pathetically infatuated.

"Well, isn't that embarrassing? "

After Rose had dated the piece, and cast an anti-smudge spell on the page, she closed the journal, returned it to her satchel, and carted a hand through her hair. She'd have to meet the team in a couple of hours, but she had time to kill until then, and she'd already dried up any inspiration she had to draw.

Rose had never been good at boredom. She had been kept too busy on Privet Drive to ever be bored, and since Hogwarts, there had always been something to keep her occupied. Since she and her friends had begun to form differing interests, however, Rose had found that with more time to herself, and less expansive curiosities besides, there weren't any new experiences to keep her occupied.

It was almost disappointing.

"Time for the old fallback plan, then."

She gathered up her things, left the observatory, and proceeded to explore the castle. There was always something new to find, whether it be secret passageways or interesting rooms, and for Rose, it had the added benefit of keeping her occupied, and her thoughts far from Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew. She and Nora, and sometimes, Hermione, had spent their first two years wandering for the sake of curiosity, but those occasions had become few and far between, though Rose was pleased to note, the adventure hadn't lost it's appeal.

Unfortunately, the explorations couldn't last, because as with the weeks before it, quidditch training beckoned. Oliver was barmy to have them exercising in this weather, but the team had learned years ago that complaining was pointless, and until Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey intervened, the team would just have to suffer.

At least, until one of them staged a revolt which, Rose knew, would happen.

It was just a matter of time, and a question of whom would lose it first.

Rose was sort of excited to find out.

**Author's Note:** Have I thought about writing a prequel that covers the first two years at Hogwarts? Not really. I'll maybe write oneshots, but a full story? Not likely. Yes, I intend to continue this story through to the end of the conflict with Voldemort, but I guess we'll see how I go.

Kind of a filler chapter, if that wasn't obvious. I'm not thrilled by it, but I'm hopeful you at least received some more insight into Potter's character, If not, then I've done something wrong.

I have to acknowledge alix33, who has pointed out my mistakes in every chapter. Thanks for your help.

Hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.


	6. Part One: Chapter Six

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Six:**

The rain, an unwelcome companion to their hour long training session, poured down in torrents, and together, the team slogged their way towards the castle. There would be no point to cleaning up in the locker rooms only to get soaked on the journey to the castle, but as they wrestled with mud to their ankles and clothes weighed down with water, as the twins promised retribution upon Oliver's grave, as Rose shivered violently between Alicia and Katie, the third year wondered if they should have just waited out the storm in the locker room.

"I've never been so wet in my life," Angelina groused, nearly inaudible over the downpour.

"That's what _she_ said," Fred and George replied simultaneously.

Rose leant into Katie's side, both of them laughing, as Angelina proceeded to tear the twins a metaphorical new one, and as Alicia watched on, highly entertained.

Oliver watched on as well, chuckling to himself, fond smile on his face. He'd gotten rather nostalgic since the year had begun, had repeatedly told them they were the best team he'd ever been part of, and despite herself, Rose would be sad to see him go. Change could be a good thing, she knew, but somehow, their team had become something _more_ than just that, and it would be difficult to integrate a new member into the fold.

"Have you decided what broom you'll get?"

Rose rolled her eyes. For all that she was fond of the older boy, Oliver Wood's persistence, and his manic determination to win the Quidditch Cup, too, was a test of her patience. Then again, quidditch had never been a priority for Rose, not the way it was for Oliver, or even the twins, whose family's quidditch legacy was almost as legendary as her own father's, and the Potterrs before him.

"Not a clue."

"You'll need to get one soon," Oliver advised, "Break it in before the next game."

Rose, who'd unintentionally pulled off a Ronsky Faint her first time on a broom, doubted she'd _ever_ need to _do that,_ but Oliver was pretty set in his ways, and Rose was certain she'd never hear the end of it if she didn't concede to his wishes. In any case, she'd grown tired of using one of the school's decrepit brooms about four seconds after mounting one, so she was pretty eager for a replacement, too. It meant a permanent goodbye to her Nimbus 2000, but change, she reminded herself, was a good thing, and it wasn't as though she could hold onto the parts forever.

Though, that said, she could probably make a small fortune by auctioning off the Girl Who Lived's first ever broom as Mr Tate had suggested, and then donate all of the money to wherever, but Rose had never been fond of that kind of publicity, and she was still pretty uncertain of whether or not it would do her any favours in the future.

They reached Gryffindor Tower and separated at the gender divided staircases. Rose made a beeline for the third year girls' bathroom, indulged in a hot shower that was probably longer than necessary, and entered the dormitory to a flurry of high pitched squeals and clothes _everywhere._

The culprits, unsurprisingly, were Lavender and Parvati. Fay wouldn't be caught dead squealing, Nora was too passive for dramatic displays, and Hermione would sooner fail Transfiguration than do anything so undignified.

As she got dressed, and idly wondered how the pair had managed to pack so many clothes between them, Nora explained that Seamus Finnigan had asked Lavender to the next Hogsmeade weekend and Godric help them all, the pair hadn't stopped squealing since they'd entered the dorm room.

"They're already picking an outfit," Hermione groused. "The hogsmeade weekend isn't for another fortnight."

"Do I have any takers for a friendly wager?" Fay queried, sprawled out gracelessly across the foot of Hermione's bed. The latter had kicked her feet onto Fay's back, a book in her lap, and Rose wondered when they'd gotten so close. In the two years past, Fay had had a tendency to spend more time with the boys in their year, but recently, she'd put more time into her schoolwork instead, and apparently, she'd also become better friends with Hermione.

"That depends, what's it on?" Rose queried.

"How long the relationship between Lavender and Seamus will last. Duh."

The three other girls, Nora, Rose and Hermione, shared glances, but eventually declined. Lavender, for all she was vapid and annoying, was still their housemate, and none of them were really willing to guess an expiry date for their friend's budding romance. It seemed almost cruel, and Rose didn't want to imagine the hurt Lavender would feel if and/or when she'd learned of it.

Rose donned a pullover on top of her undershirt, pulled on another pair of leggings and her faithful ugg boots, and contemplated her watch. Dinner had started half an hour ago, and with the internal acknowledgement that, yes, she was actually _starving_, Rose made her excuses, and retreated from the dormitory.

-!- -#-

On her way to the Great Hall, Rose's mind inevitably returned to the issue of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. She'd artfully avoided thoughts of the entire mess all afternoon, but as she descended various staircases and bypassed empty portraits, her mind wandered.

Had Lupin already handed Pettigrew in to the authorities? Would Sirius Black be exonerated? Would Pettigrew be brought to justice?

The questions swirled around Rose's mind, a disorganised maelstrom of thoughts and possibilities that left her head spinning. She stopped near the top of a staircase, leant against the bannister beside her, and took a moment to simply _breathe_. In the span of a weekend, so much had changed, and even though she was largely responsible for most of it, the transition was still extraordinarily overwhelming.

"Admiring the view, Potter?"

Blaise Zabini, tall and lanky, like a colt not yet grown into his skin, was leant up against the wall across the corridor from her, and the Gryffindor lamented the fact she'd not noticed his approach. She would have to work on her situational awareness, it seemed, but for now, she focused only on her irritation at the Slytherin's presence. In her moment of weakness, she didn't appreciate the company, and the Italian boy knew better than to approach her when Rose was so vulnerable.

Her own fault, she supposed, for losing it in such a public place.

"Holding up the wall, Zabini?" She parried. The boy's responding smile was pleased, though fleeting.

"I've never known you to fall apart." A statement, though the underlying questions were obvious. Are you okay? What's wrong? Who do I have to kill? Godric forbid, however, a Slytherin ever show concern - for a Gryffindor, no less.

The age old ritual was almost amusing.

Almost.

Rose's lips twitch. "Fall apart? Moi? Why, Monsieur Zabini, I was simply admiring the view."

Then again, she supposed, some customs would always be observed.

Rose continued on her way before Blaise could reply. She could feel the Slytherin's eyes on her back, but Rose was unconcerned. Zabini would never hurt her - not for all the gold in the world - and though others doubted that fact, Rose had no reason to.

Rose and Blaise had a strange relationship. Their interactions were made up primarily of verbal spars and a great deal of unspoken words, but at the end of the day, they were friends, a bond forged by life debts, selfish ambition, and a mutual appreciation for daggers, swords, and other such sharp, dangerous things.

"Did you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?" Blaise called out behind her.

Rose stopped, turned, and gaped unabashedly at the Italian. The boy looked poleaxed, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just asked her, and Rose was glad she wasn't the only one caught flat-footed. Since when the hell was Blaise Zabini interested in her?

"What?"

Blaise shrugged, and despite the artfully bland expression on his face, the boy was sheepish. "The guys asked who I was taking to Hogsmeade. Of all the girls I'm at all associated with, you're the only one I can tolerate for extend periods of time. I just figured, why not?"

Rose supposed she couldn't really deny that kind of logic, though a part of her worried about her friend. He seemed to have no romantic interest in girls - or blokes, for that matter - and at fourteen, puberty had made it's unwelcome presence known a while ago. Even Ron Weasley, socially stunted moron he was, had been caught ogling a few upper years, and yet, from what Rose had observed, Blaise's eyes hadn't wandered - not even once.

It explained the curveball, at least.

She shrugged nonchalantly, and smiled. "Sure, Blaise. I'll go to Hogsmeade with you."

After a few awkward moments, a couple of dumb, goofy smiles, and the promise to make plans during Ancient Runes, they went their separate ways, and Rose continued towards the Great Hall. Angelina and Alicia were already there, and Rose joined them, helped herself to mashed potatoes and a slice of pie, and dug in with enthusiasm, famished. They seemed to be brainstorming for yet another O.W level Transfiguration essay, and Rose listened in with a half-hearted interest, thoughts on Hogsmeade, and the prospect of a date with Blaise Zabini.

Rose doubted it would truly go anywhere. it was obvious Blaise wasn't interested in her, and the feelings, or the lack thereof, was mutual. She'd have fun though, because Blaise was her friend, and the two of them _always_ had fun. At the very least, it would mean a moderately interesting weekend, as opposed to those before it.

Bizarrely, Rose was excited, and she smiled into her plate.

Her first ever date.

**Author's Note:** If you've never gone on a date with someone you don't have romantic feelings for, than I'm not blind. Anyway, don't sweat it. The Rose/Blaise thing won't last. And Blaise wouldn't leave me alone. He's quite the interesting character in this world, I have to say.

Anyway, I hope I'm pulling off the multifaceted Rose. Otherwise, she'll just come off as suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder instead, and that just will not do.

I went back to university yesterday, first week of the semester, blah blah blah. I had to sit through a three hour lecture of unmitigated hell, and damn, but the next twelve Thursdays are going to suck something nasty.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Glad you're enjoying. Until next time, -t.


	7. Part One: Chapter Seven

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seven:**

A week later found Rose back in the library, blank gaze on the first draft of her History of Magic essay. Her thoughts were elsewhere, on Sirius Black and his impending exoneration, on Blaise Zabini and their upcoming date, on Cedric Diggory and his continued presence in her life. He'd studied with her a few times, had walked her to Gryffindor Tower as curfew drew close, and their casual acquaintanceship had become something more solid; a friendship built on common interests and a mutual apathy regarding inter house rivalries, Dumbledore, and blood purity.

On the upside, her superficial crush on the boy had waned, and Rose was actually able to speak with him without a cloying fear that she'd say something dumb and, inevitably, push him away. She enjoyed his company, free of any expectations beyond that of friends, and until things changed, Rose was going to appreciate it while she could.

"How's the essay coming?"

Rose grimaced. She'd handed the draft into Professor Binns to have it critiqued, and he'd returned it that morning, corrections, recommendations and all. She had a lot of work to do, but even as she'd prepared another scroll for another draft, the girl was entirely uninspired.

"That bad, huh?"

Cedric settled in the seat across from her, spread out his own homework in front of him, and cast a commiserating glance at the extra research material she'd produced from the stacks. Binns had recommended some more resources for her essay, and an overachiever on the best of days, Rose wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I can't wait for the holidays," she lamented, "At least then, I won't have due dates hanging over my head."

"It gets worse," Cedric forewarned, and Rose grimaced at the thought. "Just wait and see."

"I'm looking forward to it," she deadpanned. He chuckled heartily, but they returned to their work, and there they stayed until curfew drew near.

"I'll walk you to Gryffindor Tower," Cedric said, and Rose had resigned herself to his chivalry weeks ago. She nodded her acknowledgement though, and followed the older boy out of the library, where they fell into step side by side. "I wanted to ask you; what do you think about the business with Peter Pettigrew? I mean… how do you feel about it? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I've been worried."

Peter Pettigrew's continued survival - and his twelve years spent as a rat - had been revealed to the general public a week after he'd been discovered. The 'Daily Prophet' had detailed the whole story in all it's tragedy, and in the few days since, all Rose had received from her classmates was pity, or curiosity, and ignorant questions about whether or not she remembered any of the events thirteen - perhaps fourteen - years passed.

Rose contemplated her response to Cedric's enquiry. She was flattered by his concern, though he really hadn't needed to fret.

With that in mind, she determined to give him an honest answer. "As long as I've known what's happened, there's always been this big question mark about why, how, and who was to blame for my parents' deaths. I'd known they'd been in hiding, and that they were betrayed to Voldemort, but everything else was unknown. I guess I'm glad I have some answers. I don't have to wonder anymore. Not as much, anyway."

"So you're okay, then?" Cedric clarified, and Rose nodded, smiling.

"Never better."

They reached Gryffindor Tower then, and Rose stole a moment to catch her breath. Between the trek from the library, and her longwinded spiel to Cedric, she was winded, and the girl had no desire to walk into the tower flushed and breathless. Her classmates would jump to conclusions as they so often did, and she really didn't need that on top of the rumours of whom had asked her to the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.

"I'm glad," Cedric acknowledged. He reached a hand out and tugged her into an affectionate, one-armed hug. "Good night, Rose. I'll catch you later."

Rose bade her fellow seeker a good evening in return, ducked through the portrait hole, and retreated to the dormitories before she could be swarmed by obnoxious gossips. Nora was already in their dorm room, occupied with the task of painting her toenails.

""Hey, Rose," Nora greeted absently, "How was studying?"

"I've got some more quotes for History of Magic, and I've chosen what potion I'm going to do for Snape's end of term project. I didn't do much else though - I kept getting distracted."

"I don't blame you," Nora answered. She capped her polish, stretched out her feet, and turned her entire attention to Rose, "It's been a busy couple of weeks, hasn't it?"

"Tell me about it," Rose lamented. She dropped her satchel onto her desk, approached her dresser, and changed into her pyjamas quickly.

"At least tomorrow's the Hogsmeade weekend," Nora offered, "You should have fun on your date."

Nora was aware of whom had asked Rose out, but in typical best friend fashion, she'd been sworn to secrecy. She was excited though, obnoxiously so, and had spent the last fortnight fretting over what Rose should wear. She hadn't squealed though, for which Rose's ears were grateful.

"I hope so," Rose acknowledged. She brushed out her hair and braided it down her back, and Nora smiled at her through the reflection. "Where do you think he'll take me?"

"There aren't many options for lunch," Nora shrugged. "I guess it doesn't really matter, so long as you have a good time."

"I guess," Rose conceded. "What will _you_ be doing?"

"Parvati and I are hanging out," Nora answered, "Since you and Lavender are ditching us, and all."

"I've got the morning with you, you know."

"I remember," Nora answered. "Where should we go first?"

Rose and Nora's conversation lasted until the remainder of their roommates tromped inside. The pair stopped talking when they did. Instead, they listened disinterestedly as Lavender waxed poetic about Seamus, and as Hermione and Fay bemoaned the lack of genuinely warm places within the castle. There was the common rooms, of course, but in Gryffindor, it was perpetually crowded, and most of the quieter students had given up on it by the start of third year.

As her roommates prepared for bed around her, Rose settled at her desk, withdrew some parchment and a quill, and penned a letter to the Tates. They'd become family to her over the last three years, and although Gabriel always made certain to update his parents on Rose's life, it always seemed to please her pseudo caretakers whenever she wrote them, as well.

In her missive, she informed them of her date the following day, of her studies and her anticipation for the holidays. She explained her thoughts and feelings regarding her godfather's impending freedom, admitted her fears that he'd despise her, and afterwards, when she'd said all she wanted to, Rose signed off, dried the ink with a spell, and closed the envelope with a wax seal of her family's coat of arms.

And finally, after her bedtime routine was done, Rose climbed into bed, and fell asleep with her thoughts on the day ahead.


	8. Part One: Chapter Eight

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eight:**

Saturday dawned with a blanket of snow, bright and blinding over the Hogwarts grounds. It was by no means the first snow of the season, but the scene was as wondrous as the first time Rose had observed it, and without ado, she took a picture with her faithful camera.

It had been a reliable companion in the time since Rose had started at Hogwarts, and although she was more likely to sketch than photograph these days, she was glad for it's presence on a day that felt like a milestone.

Maybe it wasn't one, but either way, Nora let Rose indulge in her crazy, and by the time she was all dolled up, she'd used up the film, and had settled her nerves - moderately.

At least, in comparison to Lavender, she had.

"He's your friend," Nora reminded her, "You don't have to be nervous."

"What if it turns out to be a disaster?"

"Then you two will get over it, and have something to laugh about later. Don't fret - it took me _forever_ to get your eyeliner right."

"Why am I even _wearing_ eyeliner?"

"Because it makes your eyes look amazing." Parvati's reflection appeared in the mirror behind her, brown eyes bright. "Your eyes are so pretty, Rose, and you have the longest eyelashes."

"Thanks?"

"Anytime," Parvati answered, "You're beautiful, Rose. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Not even that trollop, Parkinson. Now _she's_ rather unfortunate looking."

"Parvati, that's an awful thing to say," Nora chided, but Rose laughed, and the Indian grinned her accomplishment.

"But very true," Lavender contributed. She, like Rose, had opted to leave her hair down, and it framed her face in loose, almost effortless curls. "Must be all of that inbreeding."

By the time Rose and Lavender were both ready, breakfast was nearly over, and Lavender had changed her outfit thrice. The blonde had eventually settled on a pair of skinny leg jeans, a pair of leather boots, and a pretty blouse beneath her jumper and jacket, and Rose was left wondering what the point of all that effort was when they'd be bundled up in winter wear anyway.

"Where did you want to go first?" Nora queried. "I mean, you're just having lunch with him, right? Not doing any shopping, or whatever?"

"I think we'll just walk around a bit after lunch," Rose replied, "I guess Honeyduke's, then. And Scrivenshaft's. I'm low on parchment, and I'm on my last quill."

"Well we don't really need anything from Zonko's," Nora determined, "And Gran told me specifically not to by any new clothes."

Rose snorted indelicately. "After _last_ Hogsmeade weekend, I'm not surprised."

At that, Nora grinned sheepishly. She'd bought four sets of robes that, although pretty, were needless, and as Nora put it, Lady Longbottom had not been pleased. Apparently, the Dowager Lady had predicted that those robes - and the accompanying slipper sets - would wind up gathering dust in Nora's wardrobe, and in turn, Nora had promised herself to wear them each at lease thrice - to prove a point, if nothing else.

"How do you do it?" Nora queried a few minutes later. "I mean, how do you _not_ waste all your money on stupid things?"

"Mr Tate started me on budgeting lessons before my first year," Rose answered, "And I don't know, I guess because I didn't have much growing up, I don't feel the need for much _now_. Besides, my trust vault will only get me so far. It doesn't replenish annually, like I've heard other people's do. It's all I've got until I come of age. I mean, it's a lot, but what if I need the money for an emergency?"

"I understand," Nora acknowledged, "I think you're really brave, relying on yourself, you know? I mean, I know you have Mr and Mrs Tate, and Gabriel, too, but it must be scary, not having someone making those kinds of decisions for you."

Rose shrugged, uncertain of an appropriate answer. She'd been alone for most of her life, unable to rely on anyone but herself. It was nothing new to her, and she thought she wouldn't take well to someone taking over completely. Mr Tate represented her on the legal side of things, and he was there for advice relative to everything else, but in the end, it was always Rose herself making her own decisions, and she thought she preferred it that way.

"Not really," she answered, "At least, not for me."

Nora didn't pursue the topic further. Instead, Nora and Rose spent the remainder of breakfast playfully teasing Lavender, who couldn't stop casting moon eyes at Seamus whenever she thought their tawny haired housemate wasn't looking. Comically, Seamus did the same thing in return, and by the end of the hour, Rose was certain of the facts that Lavender and Seamus were adorable, and herself and Blaise were stupid.

Rose didn't dwell on it. Instead, she spent the morning with her best friend, first at the chocolatier's, and later at the stationery shop, and before long, they found themselves inside the Three Broomsticks, butter beer in hand, conversation light. She and Blaise had made plans to meet there at noon, with the vague understanding that they'd make definite plans _then_, and Rose was coming to regret that decision.

She hated the unknown.

"He's here," Nora observed. She drained her bottle, gave Rose an encouraging grin, and disappeared into the crowd. As she did, Blaise approached, two fresh bottles in hand, easygoing smile on his face.

"Hey, Ro," Blaise greeted. He leant forward, kissed both of her cheeks, and settled in Nora's vacated seat with a contented hum. The two fresh bottles sat between them, and idly, Rose watched a drop of condensation slide down the glass. "How was your morning?"

"Not bad," she replied, "How was yours?"

Blaise shrugged. "Same old, I guess."

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Blaise answered, "But by all means, ask away."

"What did you think would happen today?"

Blaise shrugged. "We'd have lunch, hang out, after that, I don't know. Whatever you want to do, I guess."

Rose shrugged. "We can start with lunch, I suppose."

Blaise nodded his concession, and they chatted amiably until a waitress arrived at their table. She was relatively young, perhaps fresh out of her magical education, and appeared distinctly harassed by the amount of patrons she would have to tend to. Regardless, both ordered their respective dishes, settled back in their seats, and returned to their current discussion: Ancient Runes.

"I'm going to fail," Blaise determined. "I look at it, and it's all gibberish."

"You don't say," she remarked.

"Shut up," Blaise groused, though there was no heat behind his words, "I'm serious. I look at the homework, and I ask myself: what the hell am I doing? I'm transferring into Care of Magical Creatures next semester. I don't even _care_ what Stephan has to say about it."

Stephan was Blaise's most recent step-father. He was a business tycoon from Russia, or something, and had taken to the parenting role scarily quickly. Blaise, of course, was determined not to get attached because inevitably, Carmella Zabini would grow bored of him.

Rose hated the woman for the instability she guaranteed her friend, and Blaise just plainly hated her.

Not that Rose really faulted him for it.

"If that's what you want," Rose answered, "Just remember, I'm always happy to help."

"I know," Blaise answered, fond smile on his face. "I'm glad I'm friends with you."

"Of course you are," Rose agreed, "I'm awesome."

"Modest, too."

"I try."

Before long, their meals were done and paid for, and the pair were headed out to the cold. Rose donned her knit cap and gloves, tightened her knitted scarf around her neck, and walked alongside Blaise towards the Shrieking Shack.

Halfway there, her hand found it's way into his, their fingers entwined, and their date had gone better than Rose had anticipated. She was glad for it, and as they came to a stop in the shade of the haunted house, she smiled, curled her arms around her taller friend, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

They were chapped from the cold, but the kiss was warm, and as Blaise reciprocated the gesture, the warmth lingered, her heart thrummed, and Rose was happy.

And then, of course, they were disturbed.

**Author's Note:** Thoughts?

This chapter kind of wrote itself. It wasn't supposed to be romantic, and Rose was never going to be swept off her feet, and I hope it was a _relatively_ realistic first date.

Thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.


	9. Part One: Chapter Nine

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Nine:**

"You're slumming it with the halfbloods now, Zabini? What - the decent girls not easy enough for you?"

Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and their collective guard detail had gathered nearby, attention on Rose and Blaise. Malfoy's eyes gleamed maliciously, Pansy wore a matching sneer, and meanwhile, Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode made an effort to appear intimidating beneath their winter wear. Blaise, who was generally apathetic to most things, and Rose, who struggled to be intimidated by anything short of a threat to her life, were both unfazed.

"Please, don't start criticising my choice in partners until you stop choking on your own hypocrisy, Malfoy," Blaise drawled, "After all, no _decent _girl would so easily spread her legs as Pansy already has." He paused. "And call into question Rose's honour again, and you'll find my knife lodged in very uncomfortable places."

Rose, flabbergasted, let Blaise lead her back towards the village. Behind them, Pansy Parkinson was screaming at Malfoy, streaks of mascara down her cheeks, but the damage was already done. Her reputation had already been tainted, and there was no recovering from that.

Has she honestly already…?"

Blaise glanced at Rose, and nodded once. "Yes. Malfoy wouldn't stop bragging, as if it was something to be _proud_ of."

Rose was uncertain of what to think. She'd never liked Pansy Parkinson, and had never made any attempt to hide that fact, but on the other hand, she'd never been fond of senseless condemnation. She'd received enough of it from the Dursleys to last a lifetime, and Rose had therefore tried to avoid such judgement of others, herself.

Whatever the case, she wasn't about to go around spreading the word, because quite frankly, it was none of her business, and no one else's, either. Except, perhaps, Pansy's mother.

She admitted as much, and Blaise smiled at her, chuckling incredulously all the while.

"What?"

"Nothing," he answered, "You're just… you're something else, Ro. If it were the other way around, Pansy would _jump _on the opportunity to ruin your reputation."

"I'm not a malicious harpy who thrives on making other people miserable," she reasoned, "And I don't have anything against her. I just… don't like her. I don't know what her problem is with me."

"She's jealous," Blaise answered simply. Rose spluttered, and Blaise insisted. "Growing up, she was always the Queen Bee, you know? And then Hogwarts started, and you were there: prettier, smarter, wealthier, and in her eyes, generally just _better_ then her, and she wasn't the best anymore, and rather than improve herself, she's chosen to take out her jealousy on you. Don't take it personally."

"I guess I'll try not to," Rose murmured, looped her arm around Blaise's, and changed the subject. "What should we do now?"

Blaise grinned mischievously. "We could always go somewhere private, and get to know each other a little better."

Rose blushed bright red, elbowed him, and ignored the race of her heart. "You're a pig, Blaise." To herself, she asked, "How did I not know that?"

"I hid it well," Blaise chuckled. "Come on, let's head up to the castle, yeah? We can find somewhere warm, hang out for a bit."

On her way, Rose reflected on her assumptions regarding Blaise's sexuality - or lack thereof - and couldn't recall a time when she'd felt so dense. She didn't dwell on it though, because she'd had an enjoyable time with the Slytherin thus far - unpleasant disruptions notwithstanding - and she didn't want her melancholy at her own presumptuousness to bring her - or his - mood down.

Instead, she bickered with her friend over which knives were better - silver hilt, or ivory - until they'd reached an empty, converted classroom. There, she joined the Italian on a comfortable sofa, stretched her sock-clad feet across his lap, and rhapsodised over the wonder that was J.R.R Tolkien's '_Lord of the Rings_'.

As she did, Blaise watched her, eyes half-lidded, a fond smile on his face, his expression almost wondrous. When she paused, uncertain of the expression, he spoke. "You're beautiful, you know? I just… I hope you know that."

She choked, stuttered for words that wouldn't come, and blushed to the roots of her hair. Eventually, she managed a feeble, "Thank you."

"No problem," Blaise answered. "We'd better go, though. Dinner's started."

Rose sighed reluctantly, but she tugged on her boots, got to her feet, and approached the door with Blaise at her side. Before she reached it, however, Blaise reached for her cheek with an outstretched hand, knelt forward, and kissed her sweetly.

"Thank you for today, Ro. I enjoyed it a lot."

As Rose smiled - again - she sardonically wondered if she'd ever stop. "Me too."

They walked towards the Great Hall with their hands linked between them, but at the doors, they separated, Blaise towards the Slytherins, Rose towards the Gryffindors. There, Lavender and Seamus were seated side by side, Parvati beside Lavender, and an empty seat across from them reserved for Rose herself. She accepted it with a contented sigh.

"You had a good time, then?" Nora queried, though needlessly. The fact was blatantly obvious by the besotted smile on Rose's face.

"I had a wonderful time," Rose confirmed. She served herself a helping of steak, veggies and mash, accepted the pumpkin juice offered to her with quiet thanks, and dug in with enthusiasm. Before she did, however, she added, "I'll tell you all about it later."

The meal passed with Lavender regaling them with details regarding her date with Seamus. The Irish boy was red under the attention and good-natured teasing, but before long, dessert had been completed, and they tromped up towards Gryffindor Tower, to the crackling hearth and the comfort and warmth of their beds.

"You look smitten," Nora observed. "When did that happen?"

"I think when Blaise stood up for me against his own roommates," Rose answered, "I mean, he's always been a good friend, you know? I just… I never realised that I liked him like that. I guess it was kind of like a punch in the face, or something."

"I guess those kinds of feelings can sneak up on people," Nora mused.

Rose agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly. Remus had told her of her parents' story; how James had loved her with all the heat of a thousand suns, but in turn, Lily hadn't given him the time of day until James had grown up and matured out of his 'arrogant git' phase. Although Rose _knew_ she didn't love Blaise, she hoped one day that she _would_ love someone, and be loved in return, as her parents had loved each other, and she hummed wistfully at the thought.

A girl could dream.

**Author's Note:** I keep forgetting to replace the edited chapters. Mmmph.

Again, a chapter that essentially wrote itself. Thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed. Leave a review. Until next time, -t.


	10. Part One: Chapter Ten

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Ten:**

By the time the semester had come to an end, Sirius Black had been cleared of all charges, had been compensated for the ahem - _oversight_ \- and had taken up temporary residence with Mr and Mrs Tate while he recovered, sorted his affairs, and adapted to the 1990's. Rose herself had begun a tentative correspondence with the man, and with Lupin a willing middle ground,, things were going well.

That didn't mean she was no less anxious to meet him. She'd spent the entire train ride to London fretting over it, in fact, and it irked her that she was so out of sorts.

"It will be alright," Nora assured.

Blaise said nothing, but his hand in Rose's was a comfort, and she basked in it. They'd been 'together' only for a fortnight or so, but their prior friendship guaranteed a comfort that served them well, and Rose had no reason to complain.

"And if it doesn't," Nora continued, "You can always come crash at mine. "Gabriel's making his way over, by the way."

Gabriel Tate, Alastair and Jean's son, was a 5th year Hufflepuff, a close friend of Cedric Diggory's, and a pseudo older brother to Rose herself. He was tall and kind, but he'd inherited his mother's blonde hair and blue eyes, her smile, and her dimples too.

In Rose's opinion - and most other girls' in Hogwarts - he wore them well.

Before anything could be said, Blaise detached himself from Rose, pointed out the graceful form of his mother, and shrugged off Rose and Nora's concern with a bitter smile. Instead, he hugged them both, kissed Rose on the cheek, and bade all three of them a pleasant holiday. And then he was gone, out of sight among the crowd.

"You're too young for a boyfriend," Gabriel admonished.

"Says you," Rose scoffed, "I'll have you know Jean gave her blessing."

"Of course she did. _She_ doesn't know how teenaged boys think."

Nora laughed at them both, but she pointed out her approaching grandmother, and after brief goodbyes, a firm hug, and a wish for an enjoyable holiday, she'd left them too.

"Are you excited?" Gabriel queried.

"Nervous," Rose answered. "What if he doesn't like me?"

"Than he's not worth you're time. He'll love you, though."

Rose attempted a smile. "I hope so."

They waited for a further fifteen minutes before Alastair arrived. His face was flushed, breaths heavy, but he tugged them both into a mindless hug, smiling all the while. Gabriel complained good-naturedly at the gesture, Rose did not, but a moment later, he was shepherding them towards the floo.

"Sirius is very excited to meet you both," Alastair informed them.

"What in Merlin's name for?" Gabriel was bewildered. "_I'm_ not his godchild."

"You'll have to ask him yourself, Gabe," Alastair answered, cryptic. "Sorry I'm late, by the way. I got held up at work."

When they reached an available fireplace, Rose secured the strap of her bag in one hand, deposited the floo powder in the crackling flames, and stepped into the emerald fire with a clear annunciation of, "Tate's Hearth."

In the swirling vortex of fireplaces and flickering flames, Rose closed her eyes, braced her weight on one foot, and staggered out of the fireplace with a skipping step. She'd been spit out into the familiar, comfortable living room of the Tates' London townhouse, merrily decorated for the season, and Rose was unsurprised to find that Jean already awaited them there.

Jean Tate was a small, slender woman with thick, blonde curls, and the kindest smile Rose had ever seen. She was warm and welcoming, and sometimes, Rose thought of her as the mother she'd never known.

Unsurprisingly, she was in the company of the haggard, malnourished form of Sirius Black, and in the ensuing stalemate, Jean took the opportunity to make introductions.

"Rose, this is your godfather, Sirius Black. sirius, meet Rose. She's mostly the one to thank for your freedom."

Sirius smiled, approached her tentatively, and settled a hand on one of her jacket-clad shoulders. "Hello, Rose. I'm glad to meet you - and thanks for taking a chance on me."

"It was mostly for selfish reasons," Rose averred.

"Regardless, I'm not at risk of becoming dementor food, so thank you all the same."

Behind them, Gabriel and Alastair had arrived, and Gabriel was currently undergoing the Jean treatment with begrudging acceptance. Rose would too, soon enough, but for the moment, the Tates had opted to leave them to their reunion, as it were.

"It wasn't a problem. Are you settling in alright?"

"I am," Sirius confirmed, "Alastair and Jean have been very hospitable."

"That's good," Rose acknowledged, nodding to herself. She was unsure of what else to say, however, and the small talk was awkward.

Blessedly, Gabriel intervened with a handshake, and a fluid segway into a discussion regarding quidditch.

Of course.

Boys will be boys, she supposed.

Rose left them to it, took a moment to greet both Alastair and Jean properly, and to divest herself of her winter wear as well. Her satchel was banished to her room by Jean, a mug of tea was placed in her hands by Alastair, and she settled on the couch, content to listen to Sirius and Gabriel as the latter occupied her godfather's attention.

"He's doing well, you know," Jean informed her, "He sees a mind healer three days a week, and he's been prescribed a nutritional regiment for the next six months." She paused. "He lives for you, Guinevere."

Rose sipped her tea, uncertain of how she should respond - if she should at all. The thought that anyone cared for her that much was baffling, never mind a man who was - essentially - a stranger.

"He doesn't even know me."

Jean's smile was sad. "He doesn't have to, Rose. He loves you just because you're you."

Jean didn't compare it to family, for which Rose was grateful. The only experience she'd had with _that_ kind of relationship was the Dursleys, after all, and affection was the last thing she'd ever received from _them_. She'd therefore never known that kind of love, except, perhaps, with the Tates, who'd taken her in as their ward, if nothing else, and all of whom she loved and trusted. At the end of the day, though, Mr Tate was still paid by her, and that was a fact she'd never been able to forget - regardless of how hard she tried.

"Just give him a chance, Rose," Jean implored, "He's not well right now, but he will be, and I promise you, you'll never have someone more loyal behind you."

"I promise, Jean. I'll try."

Jean nodded her acknowledgement, sipped her tea, and dropped the subject with her reply, "That's all I ask, Rose." She leant towards the girl, an anticipatory smile on her face, "Now, tell me about Blaise."

Rose grinned. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything, of course. I feel like I've been waiting for ages."

Rose laughed, but she relented, and she relaxed. Suddenly, her holiday season didn't seem so terrifying, and Jean could work miracles. All was well - for now.


	11. Part One: Chapter Eleven

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eleven:**

On Christmas Eve, Rose woke early, dressed warmly, and found everyone else already awake, solemn, and respectfully silent. Lupin was there as well, but excepting a smile in acknowledgement of his presence, Rose said nothing. Instead, she donned her jacket and various other winter clothes, accepted the thermos of hot cocoa Jean offered her, and followed the adults into the backyard.

It was small, as were most yards in London, but it was ringed around by hedges ten feet tall, and it was there, with Rose attached to Jean, and Gabriel to Alastair, that the company disapperated out of sight.

They reappeared in a familiar courtyard blanketed by snow, a familiar monument in the centre, and the square otherwise abandoned. It was barely dawn, and the villagers of Godric's Hollow were still abed, but Rose paid the quietude no heed.

Instead, she followed a route that had become familiar to her in the last three years, around the side of a church she'd never entered, through an old, squeaky kissing gate, and beyond the rows upon rows upon rows of headstones. Familiar names jumped out at her - Abbott, Cornfoot, Spinett, Dumbledore - but Rose didn't stop until she reached the two most familiar names of all.

Behind her, Sirius dropped to his knees, supported faithfully by Remus, but Rose pretended she didn't notice. She'd already had her time to grieve for the parents she'd never known, and twelve years too late, her godfather had just received the blessing to mourn as well. She thought he'd have preferred it in relative privacy, where his estranged goddaughter and a few (relative) strangers couldn't see, but unless Sirius was willing to actually _leave_ the gravesite, that wouldn't happen.

"Hi," Rose murmured. She knelt in the snow, and recognised that it wouldn't be long until the wet seeped through her trousers. "Merry Christmas, and Yule, I suppose."

Rose said nothing further, content to sit in silence. Her parents had given their lives for her, and although it was tragic by all reckoning, Rose never failed to feel safe in their final resting place. She was uncertain if a part of them lingered near, or if it was just a figment of her own subconscious, but the sensation hadn't changed since her first visit, and a part of Rose hoped it never would.

"Should we go to the house?" Gabriel queried, voice almost inaudible. Rose, who'd stood from her knelt position, glanced at her defeated godfather, and shook her head in denial.

"Not today, Gabe. Maybe in January."

"Are you sure?" Alastair enquired.

Rose nodded, resolute. "I've gotten my closure, and he doesn't need that. He's not ready."

Alastair and Jean nodded their acquiescence, and with Remus' help, they managed to haul Sirius to his feet. Rose mentally bade her parents a farewell, and trudged behind the adults as they led the former convict out of the graveyard, and to a secluded apparation point they knew.

Lupin disapparated with Sirius, and Rose paired up with Jean. The last thing she heard before they popped away, was Gabriel tell Alastair, "Well, that was painful to watch."

It was followed up at the other end of their journey as Alastair chastised his son. "Have some respect, Gabriel."

The Hufflepuff raised his hands up in supplication, retreated towards the house, and disappeared out of sight. After she'd thanked Jean and Alastair for their support and companionship, Rose followed his lead, kicked off her snow boots at the door, and escaped into the solitude of her bedroom before she could be waylaid by concerned grown-ups.

All she really wanted at the moment was to be alone.

With a graceless flop, Rose dropped onto her bed with one of her journals and a lead pencil in hand, opened up to a blank page, and began to sketch out all she'd seen that morning. The images danced behind her eyes and came to life on the pages in front of her, immortalised in lead and paper, from the sight of everyone gathered in the living room, to the devastated expression on Sirius' face, and that thrice-damned, ever-confusing epitaph that Rose couldn't stand.

_The final enemy that shall be destroyed is death_.

What did that even mean?

Irritated, because it was a question she'd pondered for three years by that point, Rose set down her art things, approached her desk, and reached for the letter that had arrived in her absence. Tubby, the Tates' house elf, had left it in plain sight, and the missive was clearly from Nora, and Rose smiled to herself.

Without even seeing her, Nora knew exactly what Rose needed: a distraction.

… _please stop focusing on your own misery, and focus on mine instead. Of course, I'm being snarky right there, but whatever. As usual, I'm going to visit my parents tomorrow, and all I want to do is cry because, as usual, neither of them will know who the hell I am, and again I'm asking myself: why do I even bother? And then I remember these are my parents, who gave up their __**minds**__ for me, and the least I could be is a little grateful, but Morgana, after twelve years, it's just depressing…_

Rose gnawed at her bottom lip, frown on her face. It wasn't the distraction she'd been hoping for, but clearly, Nora was in need of Rose's support, and the Potter scion wasn't about to let her best friend down.

… _I just got back from Godric's Hollow. It was peaceful and miserable all at once, of course, and Sirius fell apart, though I confess to being unsurprised. I'm sorry you are feeling discouraged, though I don't blame you in the slightest. No doubt, it's disheartening to see them that way. _

_Admittedly, I often wonder which of us - and our respective parents - had the worser fate. Then I remind myself that they're both miserable in their own ways, and fates I wouldn't wish on anyone._

_Anyone worthwhile, in any case._

_I hope this letter finds you in (reasonably) higher spirits. I'll be certain to seek you out at the New Year's Eve ball…_

Rose signed the letter with an extravagant flourish, dried the ink with a spell, and folded the missive into an envelope she sealed with wax. Hedwig hooted lowly as Rose tied it to some string around her talon, Rose doted on the snowy owl for a time, but sent her on her way, her words certain to disappear in the wind.

"Godspeed, girl. Nora needs me."

With a ruffle of her hair, Rose changed into a pair of flannel pyjama trousers and her quidditch jersey over a thermal undershirt, tied her hair into a messy bun, and found herself headed towards the kitchen. It was the holiday season, after all, and if nothing else, she had family to spend time with.

She wasn't about to disappoint.


	12. Part One: Chapter Twelve

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twelve:**

Rose spent Christmas Eve bickering with Gabriel, or debating Charms and Transfiguration theory with Remus and later, Sirius. She spent a brief amount of time with Alastair, talking shop, but Jean was quick to disrupt such conversations, and inevitably, she would wind up, once again, verbally sparring with her pseudo-brother, and/or the two men who should have been uncles to her.

"You're so much like them," Sirius rasped.

They'd been left alone briefly, Alastair headed out for some last minute Christmas shopping, Jean to the kitchen. Gabriel had dozed off on the couch, and Lupin had returned to Hogwarts, and between the pair, the silence had been awkward.

She watched as his gaze turned distant, and Rose tilted her head, curious.

"You look like Gwyneth. That fire however… that's all James and Lily." He smiled slightly, but his eyes were sad, almost wistful. "It's uncanny."

Gwyneth Potter, formerly McKinnon, was her paternal grandmother. She'd married Julian Potter in 1957, and from the little Rose had heard, her namesake had been beautiful, and gracious, and the embodiment of aristocratic poise, grace, and loveliness.

As it happened, Gwyneth Potter, though not nearly so fanatical as to support Voldemort's cause, had very much been a pureblood elitist. James Potter hadn't been, and neither had Julian, but regardless, the revelation had been jarring, and Rose had been disillusioned.

"What's your favourite subject?"

Perplexed by the apparent non-sequitur, Rose frowned, but replied, "Transfiguration and Arithmency, I suppose."

Sirius nodded his acknowledgement, but didn't pursue the topic further. Instead, he cast his gaze out to the street beyond the window, and Rose supposed focus would be something difficult to come by after twelve years in Azkaban.

"Why were you so determined to see me freed?"

"With my parents' will _finally_ unsealed, and you as a convict, my guardianship was in question. The other possible candidates are either dead, incapacitated, or in the case of Professor Lupin, legally 'unsuitable', and I wasn't willing to risk my safety in the hands of the Department of Wizarding Children's Services.. That's why I looked further into the doubts about your conviction. I couldn't understand why you were trying to break into Gryffindor Tower, and besides that, I didn't want to end up the ward of Lucius Malfoy, or someone like him."

"Understandable," Sirius acknowledged, "And very ingenious, too. I'm impressed."

Rose smiled her thanks, and behind Sirius, she watched as Jean shuffled into the room, tea tray in hand. Rose got up to help the woman, and set to the task of pouring everyone each a cup of tea with practiced motions. It had been a regular task of Rose's back on Privet Drive, and she thought the skill was one she'd have until the end of her days.

"Rose is very intelligent," Jean said, having heard the last of their conversation, "The top of her year, in fact."

"I wouldn't say that," Rose averred, "Hermione…"

"You don't believe me, Guinevere?" Jean challenged, "I can show you your end of semester report card, if you like. You're ranked 1st out of 48."

Surprised, she sat back in her seat, floundered for words to say, and eventually just nodded her acknowledgement, and returned to her task.

"All of their intellect, and all of their talent," Jean told Sirius quietly. Rose pretended not to hear. "She'll be remarkable when she's older, Sirius. Merlin, she already is."

"That's no surprise," Sirius answered. "I knew when she was born that she'd be exceptional one day." He paused. "Her eyes were green."

Rose frowned to herself. Most caucasian babies were born with blue eyes. When they weren't, they were more often than not born with brown eyes instead. It was rare that any other colour was seen, and therefore, it was no wonder he'd thought she was a special baby.

She just… didn't think she could live up to their expectations.

Rose offered them each their teacups, settled back in the armchair she'd appropriated as her own, and turned her gaze to the window. The snow that had fallen overnight had turned to slush on the road, but there were kids playing in the street, garbed in winter wear to fend off the cold, and apparently having the time of their lives.

"I saw your game against Hufflepuff," Sirius began conversationally, "You're an excellent flyer."

Rose smiled sardonically. "Not my finest moment, I'm afraid."

"I don't know many people capable of flying in weather like that," Sirius argued, "And you couldn't help the dementors."

Rose shrugged. She still missed her Nimbus 2000, and the fact that she'd missed the snitch still stung. There were no hard feelings, mind you, but Rose was never one to accept failure well.

She wouldn't miss a snitch again.

"Rose is just sore that her record's broken," Gabriel interjected, apparently awakened by the quidditch talk, "Kind of funny, since she and Ced have become pals, but whatever, they're both weird."

Rose sent a cushion in her pseudo brother's direction, and meanwhile, Sirius enquired about who 'Ced' was.

"Cedric Diggory," Gabriel explained, "Hufflepuff seeker, my best mate, and 'sort of friends' with Rose."

"He visited me after the game," Rose contributed, "We hang out sometimes."

"Once a week, at least," Gabriel confirmed, "I don't know anyone who has ever been so excited to _study_."

"Godric, you make it sound so dirty," Rose groused, "He helps me with my Arithmency. Maybe if _you_ weren't an idiot, I'd ask _you_ for help."

"Children," Jean warned lightly.

Both silenced, glared at each other, and proceeded to occupy themselves with a war of facial expressions. Eventually, they were both laughing, brief spat forgotten, and instead bickering over which of their respective favourite WWN stations they should play.

Rose liked the mellow, acoustic sounds of a station called 'Unwired', Gabriel liked an alternative rock station called 'Strange', and although both of them shared the same eclectic taste in music, their spats over WWN stations were almost obligatory by that point.

Behind them, Jean swished her wand, and the station changed until all Rose could hear were the unwelcome, and entirely too familiar, tones of Celestina Warbec. Rose groaned, Gabriel did too, and the pair resigned themselves to an evening of appallingly bad innuendos, Alastair's out of tune accompaniment. and a mess of other things.

"It was no surprise, really, because Jean always wound up playing her favourite singer's music, and Christmas Eve - or Yule - was her favourite night to do so. It was something that would never change, and it was almost a comfort to know that.

Behind Rose, Sirius laughed, and Rose acknowledged that not everything would stay the same.

She was, surprisingly, okay with that.

**Author's Note: **I spent the weekend in Sydney. it's fecking cold there, and the weather patterns are stupid.

In other news, I have an assignment due next week, and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Yay life.

To my readers, new and not, thanks for your support. It's always encouraging, and I love to read your reviews.

Until next time, -t.


	13. Part One: Chapter Thirteen

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Thirteen:**

On Christmas morning, Gabriel woke Rose at dawn, and shortly thereafter, Alastair, Jean, and Sirius were up, too. Rose herself sat curled up in an armchair, bundled up in a knitted throw blanket by the fire, and around her, Sirius, Jean and Alastair were groggy and begrudging, and Gabriel was the absolute opposite. She glared at him, not particularly thrilled by the wake up call, but Gabriel - oblivious, or uncaring - ignored her sour expression, and instead occupied himself with divvying up their presents.

"It's a free for all," Alastair explained to Sirius, "Really, just go barmy."

Rose herself opened her gifts slowly, content to take her time and appreciate the thought her loved ones had put into them. Jean bought her clothes - comfortable, casual, and classy - and Alastair bought her art supplies. Gabriel had gifted her with stationery and sweets, and the girls in her dorm had chipped in for a surprisingly well-stocked makeup kit. Fred and George had bought her gag pyjamas, while Angelina, Alicia and Katie had chipped in to buy her a necklace, from which hung a small golden snitch.

Oliver's present was the biography of Joseph Wronski, Blaise's was a pair of small, gold hoop earrings, and Lupin's was a set of advanced, albeit battered, Defence, Transfiguration, and Charms textbooks to 'supplement her extra-curricular studies'.

There were notes in the margins, thought streams and opinions Rose would be interested in studying, and the names inside the covers were those of her parents'. The sentimental value alone was priceless.

To Rose's surprise, Cedric had gifted her with a box of her favourite sweets, and to her even greater surprise, Sirius had gifted her with a Firebolt, of all things.

"I can't accept this," she protested. She could only _imagine_ how much the broom, undoubtedly a work of art, had cost. "It's too much."

"It's just enough," Sirius refuted, "I have about 12 years of birthdays and Christmases to make up for. Besides, nothing makes me happier than when I get to spend my family's 'hard earned money'."

Rose could almost _see_ the quotation marks, and the resentful sneer on his face was indication enough of how, exactly, her godfather felt about the term. Lupin had explained, vaguely, that Sirius had never been on excellent terms with his immediate family, and upon consideration, Rose had understood why. The Ancient and Noble House of Black had been a very traditional, and remarkably conservative house, and Sirius, a maverick, if the descriptions from teachers were anything to go by, would not have fit into their finely crafted ideal.

Sardonically, the girl thought she could relate.

"Also," he added sheepishly, "I'm kind of at fault for the fate of your last broom."

Rose chuckled lowly, conceded the point, and thanked him with all the gratitude she could muster. She ran reverent fingers along the polished handle, sighed wistfully, and counted down the days until she could be at Hogwarts again, could fly without fear of legal recrimination and such things, and thought she'd combust with the wait.

"Did you want to take it for a spin?" Sirius enquired.

"Here?" Rose frowned doubtfully. "The Ministry wouldn't be pleased with me."

"I was thinking more _Ysgarlad_," Sirius drawled, "Or if not there, then the Black family's country house - in Lake…"

Ysgarlad was the ancestral grounds of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. The manor had been built in the 1600's, refurbished in the 1950's, and Rose had only ever step foot in it once. It had been shortly before her second year at Hogwarts, when she'd met the portraits of her grandparents, and Rose hadn't visited since. Whenever she did, the loneliness was all-consuming, and she'd rather not deal with it regularly.

"I'd love that," she answered, "But…"

"Never mind that, Rosie, go - fly - I know your head will be in the clouds, otherwise." Jean chuckled at her own wit, Rose rolled her eyes, but acquiesced without complaint.

Thus, 25 minutes later found herself and Sirius on the Ysgarlad grounds, bundled up in winter wear and gaze on the skies. They'd not checked the weather forecast, but as it happened, northern Wales was in for a blizzard, and the chill was ridiculous.

"Maybe we shouldn't?" Sirius pondered.

"Are you kidding? NO way. I am _not_ waiting until spring."

With that in mind, Rose mounted the Firebolt, kicked off, and soared into the skies. The air was bitingly frigid; a cold Rose could feel in her bones. The wind was sure to offer a battering soon enough, but for now, snowfall was light, and at the very least, there weren't lightning bolts threatening to barbecue her out of the sky.

A blizzard would probably be a cakewalk.

Plus, the snowcapped, birds' eye view was sensational.

With a shiver, Rose pulled her knitted cap further down her head, wound her scarf around her neck, and donned the hood of her fur-lined cloak. Unfortunately, speed and aerial acrobatics were out of the question, but Rose lazily looped around the grounds, content to luxuriate in the sensation of freedom, weightlessness, and the complete lack of her usual concerns.

In the sky, Rose hadn't a care in the world.

"Thank you for the broom," Rose told Sirius later, curled up by the Tates' living room fireplace, peppermint hot chocolate in hand. They'd had an enormous lunch earlier, and while Gabriel had retreated to his room to sleep off the copious amounts of food he'd ingested, Alastair, Jean, Sirius, and Lupin, too, - not to mention Rose, of course - had retreated to the fireplace to relax. "It flies like a dream."

Sirius smiled, his own cocoa laced with whisky. Rose imagined it couldn't taste pleasant, but the man seemed to enjoy it, and Rose wasn't about to begrudge him his vices. "That's not a problem, Rose. I'm glad you enjoyed it." He swirled his tainted cocoa around in his mug, and his gaze unfocused.

Again, he seemed to have gotten lost in his own head.

She left him to it, and addressed Lupin. "Thank you for the books, too, Professor. I love them."

Lupin smiled, warm and kind, and Rose idly wondered how _anyone_ could consider him an unsuitable guardian. "I'm glad you liked them, Rose, but no thanks is necessary. It's about time I started letting go of the past."

The words left a heavy feeling in her chest, and Rose turned her gaze to her cocoa, uncertain of what she should say - if anything. Eventually, she simply nodded her acknowledgement, gave the man a supportive smile, and tried not to think about the concept of 'letting go'. It seemed unfathomable, and yet, Rose knew that she, too, would one day have to do the same.

Inside the privacy of her own bedroom, bundled up in her covers, the thought brought her to tears.

**Author's Note:** Don't ever do Cultural Studies. That is

Hope you've enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.


	14. Part One: Chapter Fourteen

**Shelter From The Storm **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Fourteen:**

The following week past in a blur of letters between friends, conversations with Sirius, holiday homework, and spats with Gabriel. On occasion, she'd confer with Sirius and Alastair on matters of the Potter estate, but most of the time, she had her head in a book - fictional, factual, or simply her art journal - and that was how Rose preferred it.

Eventually though, New Year's Eve rolled around, and with it, the dreaded Ministry of Magic ball. It was held every year in the M.O.M building, and in the last two years, Rose had grown to despise it. She couldn't deny that it was an excellent way of networking, however, and thus, Rose couldn't _not_ attend, because it wasn't as though she had an established network of contacts already. She _needed_ to form connections with other politicians - current and future - and she needed to start while her name was still in good favour.

In a set of pale blue dress robes, Rose donned the accompanying silver slippers and turned to the jewellery she'd laid out for the occasion. They'd come from her mother's jewellery box, a set of silver hoop earrings, both of which was accentuated by a single, hanging diamond teardrop, and the corresponding necklace. A silver bracelet adorned her wrist, and her hair - done up in an elaborate chignon for the occasion - was bound by delicate, diamond encrusted, silver hair pins.

Honestly, the diamonds made her uncomfortable, but wealth was very important to the conservative families, and Rose, as the last Potter, needed to show off that she had her own, abundant fortune. At the very least, it made her feel marginally closer to the mother she'd never known, but that knowledge only made the fact mildly more bearable.

"You look beautiful," Jean told her, applying Rose's makeup, "Blaise won't be able to take his eyes off of you."

Rose blushed, but couldn't suppress her smile at the thought. "With all this effort, he'd better not."

Jean laughed, applied a coat of gloss over Rose's lips, and declared her finished. Rose thanked her, took a moment to admire her appearance in the chatty mirror, and retrieved the clutch Jean had purchased for the occasion.

"Your cloak is downstairs," Jean informed her, "Quite lovely, if I do say so myself. tanned dragon hide, lined with mink fur and acromantula silk…"

"Probably worth more than someone's pay cheque, four times over," Rose contributed, and tongue in cheek, she added, "But pretty, of course"

"Of course," Jean agreed, "Your godfather paid for the outfit." Upon Rose's expression, jean continued, "He insisted. Plus, it _is_ his job as your guardian."

Unsure of what she should think about that, and certain now wasn't the time to address Sirius regarding the matter, Rose simply nodded, followed Jean downstairs, and into the foyer. Sirius, Alastair and Gabriel awaited them there, already clad in their cloaks.

When Sirius had announced that he'd been invited - and had agreed - to attend the ball, Rose hadn't been the only one wary. He'd only recently been released from Azkaban, and a fair deal of the politicians there were some of the sods who'd initially not granted him a trial. Besides that, his physical recovery was still in its early stages. He'd been insistent though, and eventually, Rose, Jean and Alastair had each relented.

Rose donned her own cloak, Alastair helped Jean into her's, and as they approached the fireplaces, Rose wondered why she'd bothered ordering one. She'd barely be using it, but then again, she supposed custom had to be observed.

"I'll go first," Alastair determined, "The rest of you follow me."

"As opposed to what else, Dad?" Gabriel muttered beside Rose. He wore his usual frown for the occasion, probably as excited for the New Year's Eve Ball as Rose herself was.

That is to say: not in the slightest.

"What a way to ring in the new year," Sirius commented, "Rubbing elbows with Grumpy old sods. Last time I attended one of these shindigs, James and I planted dung bombs under Millicent Bagnold's table, and spiked the punch with tequila. Good times…"

Sirius' reminiscent smile was painful to look at, but Rose couldn't help laughing. She could imagine it - Sirius and James, teenaged hooligans - and it was unfair that a couple, James and Lily - so vivacious, and full of life by all accounts - were killed before they could truly _live_.

Then again, she reminded herself, life wasn't fair. It never was, it never would be, and Rose had never expected anything otherwise.

In front of her, Gabriel disappeared through the floo network, and Rose followed shortly thereafter. She landed in front of Alastair and Gabriel, the former of whom quickly, wordlessly, vanished soot from Rose's clothes, gave her an encouraging grin, and gestured her aside. Sirius took up the place she'd vacated, and Jean shortly afterwards, and once they, too, had been cleaned of soot, the small party made their way towards the designated ballroom.

"It's four hours, Gabriel," Alastair told his son, "You think you can go that long without doing something stupid?"

"Sure," Gabriel agreed, "Though I guess it really depends on what you constitute as 'stupid.'"

Alastair shook his head, resigned. "You're a menace, my son."

Gabriel's grin was unrepentant. "I try, Dad."

At the doors of the Ministry of Magic's only ballroom, Alastair showed the auror guards their tickets, they were passed through with a great deal of fanfare, and in the doorway, the five companions took in the site in front of them.

Unsurprisingly, the Ministry of Magic had gone all out for the occasion. The ballroom looked like a winter wonderland, with everything coloured in white, pale blue and silver. Most of the guest list had already arrived, and while Gabriel disappeared into the crowds in search of the few friends _fortunate_ enough to be on the guest list, Rose opted to mingle with Jean, Alastair, and Sirius. The guests were, essentially, the most influential members of wizarding Britain, and at least for a short time, herself, Sirius, and Alastair - as her proxy - would have to show a united front.

"I think I forgot why I despised these things," Sirius said over a tumbler of whisky, "These people are _unbearable_."

"Tell me about it," Rose agreed. She sat back as best she could in her seat without slouching, contemplated the untouched elf wine in front of Jean, and thought better of it. The children in mainland Europe might have been able to get away with imbibing, but Britain wasn't so liberal, and no doubt, if she did, it would be splashed all over the 'Daily Prophet', with unsubtle insinuations that Rose was unworthy to be a role model, among other things.

Wankers.

Behind her, Blaise's voice carried to her ears, , Rose relaxed, and for the first time all night, the smile that lit up her face was genuine. Her night had just gotten a whole lot better.

"Blaise," she greeted, rose to her feet, and turned to embrace him. He greeted her with kisses to each cheek, cast his gaze over her form, and smiled appreciatively.

"You look very pretty, Ro."

Rose blushed. Her dress, pale blue, but accented by darker shades, was a blend of medieval and modern, with a square neckline, a form fitting bodice, and a skirt that _flowed_ from the empire waist, to barely skim the ground. Her sleeves clung to her upper arms, but billowed out in the typical 'angel sleeve' from the elbow, and all in all, she was rather fond of it.

"Thanks," she answered, "You don't look too bad yourself."

His black dress robes were parted, to reveal the dark grey button down, black trousers and polished shoes beneath. The outfit was completed by the v-neck button down vest and tie - both silver - and all in all, the look suited him well.

Blaise shrugged nonchalantly, but he couldn't keep the slight smile off his face. "I try."

She rolled her eyes, linked her fingers through his, and turned to address her three guardians. "Sirius, Jean, Alastair, this is Blaise Zabini. Blaise, meet Mr and Mrs Tate, and Lord Sirius Black."

After the formalities were observed, and idle chit chat was had, Rose swept her boyfriend - and wasn't that such a strange concept? - onto the dance floor. They fell into a waltz seamlessly, Blaise leading the way, and Rose simply grateful for the lessons Alastair had ensured Rose would receive throughout her first year. She had fun though, dancing and laughing and talking with Blaise, and in the end, it was a pleasant way to counterbalance the unavoidable networking they both had to endure.

"What's Sirius like?" Blaise queried, "Do you like him?"

Rose smiled. "We get along well enough, I suppose. I mean, I've only really known him a couple of weeks, so we're not best friends or anything, and I don't feel inclined to call him 'Dad', either, but I enjoy speaking with him, I guess. He's clever, and funny, and his stories are a riot."

"That's good," Blaise acknowledged, "I'm glad you get along with him. It might have been awful for you, otherwise, what with him as your guardian…"

"I know," Rose answered, and gave a rattling sigh. "I just hope he'll be able to recover from Azkaban. He's… haunted, I guess."

"No surprise, I suppose. He _did_ spend twelve years in hell," Blaise reasoned. "I see your point, though."

As Lucius Malfoy drew nearer with his wife, Blaise and Rose's conversation diverted to more inconsequential things - presents, and classes, and holiday homework - and the night wound on. Eventually, midnight struck. celebrations were had, and in the din of it all, Blaise kissed her, long and lingering, and for the moment, there was nowhere else Rose would rather be.

**Author's Note:** Really, I don't like holiday chapters. Glad _this_ holiday is over now. Next chapter: Hogwarts. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Until next time, -t.


	15. Part One: Chapter Fifteen

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Fifteen:**

"Do you ever wish you were someone else?" Nora was sprawled out across Rose's bed, her pillow tucked beneath the other girl's chin. Rose herself was at her desk, occupied with the most recent stack of worksheets assigned by Professor McGonagall, but upon her best friend's enquiry, she'd glanced up, and met the other girl's gaze with her own.

"More often than I'd care to admit," Rose answered. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Nora replied on an exhale, "I'm just…"

Concerned, Rose set down her quill, turned fully to face her friend, and waited for Eleanor's explanation. She'd been out of sorts ever since their return to Hogwarts a week earlier, and Rose was hopeful that she'd finally understand why.

"There have been offers for betrothal," Nora admitted, "And grandmother says that if I don't find an acceptable suitor by the time I'm seventeen, then she'll start negotiating a contract."

Rose grimaced, flopped gracelessly beside Nora, and stared thoughtfully at the canopy of her bed. She knew that betrothal contracts were still in favour, had even received a few via Alastair, but hadn't thought much of them. Alastair didn't have the authority to arrange such contracts, Sirius had no desire to, and thus, Rose hadn't concerned herself with them.

Perhaps she should have.

"Do you know who she's considering?" Rose enquired. "Maybe you can approach them, see if they're worth your time."

Nora shook her head, no. "She hasn't started compiling a list yet. There aren't that many to choose from though; not when Grandmother's standards are taken into consideration."

Rose sighed. "I'm sorry, Nora. I don't know how I can help."

"It's alright," Nora answered, smile sad, "I just… I didn't want to keep bottling it up, I guess."

Rose smiled in kind, squeezed Nora's hand, and said nothing more on the matter.

Instead, she returned to her homework, successfully turned a mouse into an elaborate pin cushion, and contemplated the extent to which Professor McGonagall would further Rose's Transfiguration skills. She didn't dwell on it though, because Professor Binns had already assigned another monolithic report, and Professors Snape, Lupin and Babbling hadn't been far behind.

It would be a _long_ term.

She could get lost in thoughts of Blaise. His hands, warm and steady, his fingers long and slender, his eyes dark and fathomless. The way he squinted when he laughed, the way his smile revealed a dimple in his cheek, the way he held her when they kissed. It was fun, it was breathtaking, it was _intoxicating_, and sometimes, Rose forgot herself.

"I've never felt this way before," Rose told Nora, "It scares me."

She'd never been so close to anyone. Too used to getting hurt, Rose had never let herself, but there it was, like a balloon inside her chest. It was just waiting to burst, to tear her walls right open, and to show her heart for all the world to see.

"Is it love?" Nora asked.

Rose faltered, shrugged, and answered, "I don't know."

Before they could pursue the topic further, Gabriel appeared between them, slung an arm over over their respective shoulders, and slowed his steps to match their pace. Cedric jogged slightly in front of them, turned and smiled at Rose, and walked backwards towards the frozen lake.

"lo, Rose," Cedric greeted, "Haven't seen you around."

"Probably been busy snogging Zabini," Gabriel answered, tone jesting. Rose herself turned crimson to the roots of her hair, elbowed Gabriel violently, and only felt marginally satisfied as the boy groaned, hunched over, and protectively crossed his arms over his ribs. "Bugger, Rose, I was just teasing."

"Well don't, you wanker," Rose answered, tone scathing.

Cedric approached them, his eyebrows still raised comically, and offered Gabriel an unsympathetic slap to the back. Nora herself was occupied with the task of smothering her own laughter, but Rose couldn't work out what on earth was so bloody funny.

"Gabe mentioned you've got a boyfriend," Cedric commented idly, "How's that going?"

Rose, still pink, nodded her head, anxiously brushed loose strands of her hair behind her ears, and elucidated, "Things are good. How are you?"

"He's great," Gabriel interjected, "He's been snogging Cho Chang for the last couple of weeks."

Cho Chang was the Ravenclaw seeker. She was a fourth year, smart and pretty, and popular too, if the perpetual gaggle of cling-ons were anything to go by. With more interesting things to occupy her time, Rose hadn't paid much attention, but apparently, Cedric had been.

"Fuck off," Cedric scoffed, occupied by a punch to Gabriel's arm. He appeared completely contrite a moment later, and both Rose and Nora laughed at the sight. Gabriel did too, despite his throbbing arm.

"Please, as if you can deny it, Ced," Gabriel scoffed, tugged his knitted cap further over his forehead, and cursed under his breath. "It's cold as balls out here. Why aren't you two inside?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Nora opined, "Why are _you two_ out here?"

"The Hufflepuffs help Professor Sprout tend to the greenhouses on weekends," Cedric explained, "It frees up her time to mark essays and such, and if we're completely awful in class, it gives us extra credit."

"That's…" Rose floundered, but Nora took up her stride.

"That's completely unfair," she huffed, "Why can't the rest of the houses get an opportunity like that?"

"Nora, you have an O grade already," Rose interjected.

"Whatever," Gabriel answered, "Snape does the same thing, and I'm sure McGonagall and Flitwick have their own ways of bettering their students' grades. Back to the matter at hand: why aren't you two in the Gryffindor common room?"

"Because we wanted to talk out of the way of Lavender and Parvati, whom, although sweet and what have you, can scent out secrets like bloodhounds," Nora groused. "I'm not particularly fond of the snow, myself."

"Eh, the cold never bothered me," Rose commented.

"Really?" Cedric queried. He had his wand drawn, and he looked entirely too unassuming for Rose's comfort. "Are you sure about that?"

Rose made to move, but before she could, what felt like a kilogram of snow was dropped over her head. She gave a squeak of mingled surprised and protest, and as the other three positively _howled_ their amusement, Rose's gaze narrowed in challenge.

"Cedric Diggory, you're a dead man."

**Author's Note:** Apologies if the bold formatting is out of whack. Also, if the line breaks don't appear.

This one was hell to write. That's why it's a shameless filler. Hope you enjoyed, anyway.

Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.


	16. Part One: Chapter Sixteen

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Sixteen:**

It was during discussions about what they should do for Valentine's Day that Rose and Blaise concluded that they were better off as friends. It wasn't that they didn't work as a couple, but rather, it was because they both had such contrasting ideals about many things, least of all the value of Valentine's Day. She wanted to change the world, but Blaise was content with the status quo. She didn't care much for social hierarchy, but it defined his life. She believed in love - Blaise did not.

The thing is, Carmella Zabini had ruined Blaise's perception of love, and to the Italian Slytherin, Valentine's Day was just another day during which people became more stupid than usual, and spent money on useless bits and pieces that, inevitably, wound up in the rubbish bin.

Rose, who didn't care much for the cards or Lockhart-esque stupid either, was of the opinion that Valentine's Day was, if nothing else, a day to actively spend with loved ones, to show one's appreciation by otherwise impractical means, but Blaise had objected to doing _anything_ to signify Valentine's Day, and in turn, it had occurred to them _both_ that they _really_ didn't have any similar ideals beyond blood, magic, and sharp, pointy things.

With all of that said, it wasn't a fight thrown out of proportion. They didn't break each other's hearts, it wasn't a one-sided decision. Rose had grown to love him, yes - but she wasn't _in_ love with him - and although it was sad, it was also amicable, and in time, they'd probably even be closer friends than they'd ever been.

In the meantime, Rose committed herself to her studies, Blaise did the same, and the days drifted by as they were prone to do. A break up didn't mark the end of the world, Rose didn't fall apart, and life went on.

Before she knew it, it was spring, quidditch had started up again, and Oliver was working the team harder than ever. He was frankly desperate to win the Quidditch Cup, and with word that there would be scouts at the finale, Oliver was determined to make an impression.

It was after a particularly gruelling training session that Rose found herself in Hagrid' hut, Hermione and Nora by her side. Hermione had dragged Rose and Nora there, ranting all the while, and Rose had went without protest. Hagrid was her friend, after all, if only the distant, catch-up-only-twice-a-year kind, and if Hermione was angry, than there was probably a reason for it.

Maybe.

She _did_ have a tendency to throw things out of proportion…

To put a long story short, because Draco Malfoy was an ignorant pillock who didn't know how to listen to instructions if they bit him on the bum, Hagrid's companion, Buckbeak - a hippogriff, of all things - would be executed, and there was nothing they could do about it.

"That's terribly unfair," Nora commiserated.

Rose agreed, of course, and started to make a plan. She'd need memories of the event, but as things were, the Ministry of Magic was currently scrambling to get back into the good favour of herself and Sirius, and the Gryffindor seeker had every intention of taking advantage of that fact.

And if it put an end to a very minor element of ministerial corruption all the while, then Rose wasn't about to complain.

With that in mind, she wrote a letter to Alastair that evening, explaining the circumstances, and sent it off with Hedwig. She gathered the memories from the Gryffindor, third year Care of Magical Creatures students, gathered yet more from their Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff counterparts, and finally from Hagrid himself, before she got comfortable for the night, withdrew her art journal, and sketched absently as her dorm mates chatted around her. As she did, however, Rose's mind began to wander, to Hagrid and Sirius, to the Ministry of Magic, and to their absolutely incompetent judicial system. It was embarrassing, really, and she wondered how anyone else could stand for it.

Rose couldn't do anything about it, though.

Not yet, anyway.

She wouldn't be thirteen forever, however, and with that thought in mind, the Gryffindor smiled to herself, pleased.

It was nice to have a plan.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Rose?" Nora queried. "You have that 'up to no good' expression on your face."

"That is for me to know, Eleanor, and for you to find out," Rose answered, withdrew her journal, and penned out her plans for the future. It would require work, and further - far more extensive - planning, and not to mention a great deal of research and networking, but for now, Rose contented herself with the bear minimum, magically sealed the journal with a password protected locking spell, and returned to her art journal.

"Alright," Nora acknowledged, begrudgingly, "But you _will_ tell me eventually, _Guinevere_."

"Of course," Rose agreed, flashed her best friend a grin, and signed her most recent sketch with a contented hum. "I just… need to work on some things, first."

With that in mind, Rose found herself in and out of the library in the days that followed. The issue with Buckbeak was quickly resolved, the hippogriff (and Hagrid) cleared of any charges, Draco Malfoy was publicly chastened, and the Ministry of Magic, once again, was covering up their own backsides - though that was no surprise, these days.

On one such occasion, Rose was immersed in a textbook that explained the early establishment of the Ministry of Magic. It had been governed by the Ancient and Noble Houses back then, far less corrupt and what have you, but also a far smaller institution than what the modern Ministry of Magic had become. It was quite interesting, really, but Rose was interrupted in her reading by Gabriel, and accompanied by Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang, and the latter's friend, Marietta Edgecombe.

She hadn't seen much of the older Hufflepuffs recently. Between the boys' O.W.L studies, and Rose's own life, time had gotten away from them. Also, Cedric was dating Cho Chang, and Rose had immersed herself in her own studies, and she and Cedric's weekly study sessions had been pushed to the back burner. Rose didn't mind, really, but as the quartet stood ahead of her, the Gryffindor sort of wished they'd continued on their way, and ignored Rose all the while.

she didn't like this change.

"Ro," Gabriel greeted. He flopped gracelessly into the chair across from her, Cedric followed suit beside him, and reluctantly, the two Ravenclaws did too. Clearly, Rose wasn't the only one not fond of this turn of events.

"Gabriel," she returned, "Cedric." More civilly, she acknowledged, "Chang. Edgecombe."

"Potter," they both answered.

"How goes things?" Cedric queried. He cracked open his Transfiguration textbook, and Rose snapped shut her borrowed history book.

"Not bad," she answered, inexplicably awkward. Normally, when she and Cedric studied together, they were alone, and she felt out of sorts to have that constant suddenly altered. "How about you lot?"

They each answered noncommittally, Rose nodded her acknowledgement, and began to pack up her things, She returned her borrowed books to their shelves, returned her glasses to their case, and made her excuses quickly, certain there were a dozen less awkward places she could be.

And so she left, and as she went, she ignored the sensation of Cedric Diggory's eyes on her back. He'd been frowning last she'd seen, and although he wasn't thrilled by her sudden departure, the third year wouldn't regret her decision. She'd been uncomfortable in the Ravenclaws' presence, and she wasn't about to suffer in silence for the sake of Cedric's peace of mind. Gabriel probably couldn't care either way, but whatever the case, Rose wasn't about to dwell on it. Not when she had other - more important things - on her mind. Like school. Like her other friends. Like her plans for the future.

As for Cedric? Well, he'd get over it.

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the long wait. Life, and such things. On the bright side, university is over, a camp for the blind probably changed my life, and I'm happier than I have been in a very long time. Thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed. Leave a review. Until next time, -t.


	17. Part One: Chapter Seventeen

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seventeen:**

"Hermione's lost the plot," Nora informed Rose, "Merlin, I forgot how batty she is."

"Exams," Rose answered sagely, and the pair shared commiserating smiles.

The girls in Gryffindor - and the boys, too, come to think of it - had learned in 1992 that Hermione Granger didn't cope well with stress. The older students, O.W.L, or N.E.W.T years had patronisingly informed her that first year was _nothing_ in comparison to fifth and above, but Hermione was rather adept at her selective hearing thing, and Rose was pretty sure the muggleborn had artfully tuned them out.

In any case, it made living with Hermione miserable for the months of May and June. Her persistent nagging that they, too, should study, on top of Oliver's manic training sessions, the correspondence between Sirius, Jean and Alastair about what Rose had in store for the approaching summer, and the stress of general school things, and Rose was ready to tear her hair out.

With her temper rising, and aware that she'd work a great deal better away from Hermione's well-intentioned harassment, Rose gathered her study things, donned a light cardigan, and retreated from Gryffindor Tower. it had warmed significantly since the end of winter, but Hogwarts Castle was perpetually draughty, and the lightweight cardy didn't fail to ward off the lingering chill.

Rose unsurprisingly found herself back in the library, but between overworked fifth and seventh years, groups of harassed sixth years and the occasional younger student, too, the place was crowded, and Rose was frowning. She had no real desire to study in a place currently so hectic, but with no other apparent options, she ducked past the various sections until, finally, she found herself within the stacks of government texts, seated at a table there, and blessedly alone.

Perhaps, she thought, Nora had had the right of it when she'd suggested studying outside.

Then again, Rose supposed, Nora didn't have a tendency to get nearly so distracted by others as Rose herself did.

Speaking of…

As she was about to immerse herself in her Ancient Runes notes, Rose was startled when a book was dropped onto the table with a careless 'thunk'. Her first instinct was to look around in search of Madame Pince, but afterwards, she glared at Cedric Diggory, unimpressed.

"Make some more noise, Cedric. I don't think Antarctica heard you."

Cedric lifted the History of Magic tome he'd dropped, Rose's eyes widened, and the Hufflepuff rgrinned, playful and such things.

Rose scowled. "Git."

Cedric shrugged nonchalantly, settled in the seat across from her, and replied, "I try."

With a roll of her eyes, she returned to her notes, Cedric began his own studies, and for a time, they were silent. The library itself wasn't, however, with the constant hiss of whispered conversation, the turn of pages, and the scrape of chairs on stone. Rose grit her teeth and bore it, but she was frustrated, and before long, so too was Cedric.

"I can't concentrate," he groused, "Do you want to go and fly?"

Rose hesitated. On one hand, she _did_ need to study. On the other, however, it _was_ a beautiful day outside. Perfect weather for flying, in fact.

With that in mind, Rose was sold.

"I'll meet you on the quidditch pitch."

The pair packed up their things and retreated from the library. Cedric headed to the Hufflepuff common rooms, Rose to the Gryffindor counterpart, but fifteen minutes later, they were both on the quidditch pitch, broomsticks in hand, and wearing smiles.

"How goes things, anyway?" Cedric queried. "We haven't really spoken in a while."

Rose shrugged, nonchalant. "Things are good, I guess. Just been working on school, and such. How about you?"

"O.W.L's," he answered bleakly.

Rose grimaced her sympathy. "And Chang? How are things with her?"

In all honesty, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the particulars. Cho Chang was no friend of Rose's, and since the Ravenclaw and Cedric had been together, Rose had hardly had a conversation with the older Hufflepuff. It was disappointing, really, and she wondered what it said about Cedric, that he'd put a girlfriend before a friend.

Did it even matter?

Rose wasn't sure, really, but she'd been feeling neglected, and she didn't like it.

Bratty of her? Certainly.

Did she care? Not in the slightest.

Cedric grimaced, mounted his broom, and took off into the skies. Rose was quick to follow, but she didn't pester her friend for answers. It was clearly a subject he didm' want to talk about, and Rose wasn't one to pry. Not in business that didn't concern her, in any case.

She had learned from her last two years at school - who'd have thought?

Eventually though, Cedric _did_ answer, and his honesty was surprising. From what she'd observed, boys didn't generally do the 'heart to heart' thing, and she'd not figured Diggory to be an exception to that rule.

"It could be better," Cedric answered, "Cho's… she's not who I thought she'd be, I guess."

"How do you mean?" Rose looped around the Hufflepuff, he followed her movements with a seeker's eye and reflexes, and exhaled with a huff. She paused at the sound, glanced at him curiously, and waited as he considered his answer.

"I don't really like who she is when no one else is watching."

"What are you going to do about it, then?"

Cedric huffed a small, exasperated laugh. "Break up with her. I just… I know when I do, there will just be all this stupid drama, and I don't want to deal with that shite right now."

"That's understandable," Rose acknowledged, brushed hair out of her eyes, and changed the subject. There wasn't much else to be said on the matter of relationships, after all, and Rose wasn't about to talk about Cho Chang any more then she had to. "What are you doing these holidays?"

As Cedric began to babble animatedly about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, and as they lazily looped around the pitch, Rose's shoulders eased, and she smiled to herself. Despite her problems with her studies, things were good.

She hoped it stayed that way.

**Author's Note:** So… not long to go, now. I intend to take a break before I start fourth year, but rest assured, it will continue on from the end of 3rd year. I don't intend to publish a sequel - perhaps just a separate arc? We'll see, I guess. Anyway, thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.


	18. Part One: Chapter Eighteen

**Shelter From The Storm**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eighteen:**

Cedric broke up with Cho after his OWL's. He told Rose after the fact, but even if he hadn't, Rose would have known by the way the Ravenclaw fourth year girls had flocked to Cho's side, and simultaneously, had begun to hate on the collective hufflepuff quarter of Hogwarts. Rose herself thought it was all rather melodramatic, but between her own exams, preparation for the upcoming quidditch final, and life in general, she didn't pay much attention to it.

On the day of the quidditch final, she woke up with butterflies in her stomach, anxious despite herself. She'd never actually played a quidditch final before, and on top of that, Oliver, the chasers, and Fred and George were expecting a miracle from her. Furthermore, they'd be playing Hufflepuff, and the thought was nausea-inducing.

"He's my friend," she murmured.

Angelina shrugged, unsympathetic. "Well he's not today."

"Thanks," Rose deadpanned.

Angelina softened, gave Rose a comforting smile, and assured, "He's not going to hate you if you catch the snitch, Rose. Wood, on the other hand…"

Rose grimaced her agreement, tugged her braid from beneath her shirt, and knotted the laces of her quidditch gloves at her wrist. They were soft, pliant leather, and fingerless - made specifically for seekers - and Rose loved them.

As for Oliver…

The general consensus was that the older boy had lost his marbles, likely after too many bludgers to the head, but given they were _all_ likeminded quidditch nuts - to a degree, anyway - no one was about to say anything.

Besides, it was Wood's last game on the Hogwarts pitch. They were all a little more lenient than they had been in years passed.

That, and ridiculously sentimental.

"You ready?" Katie queried.

Rose checked her uniform once more, tightened the laces on her moccasins, and gave the 4th year a nod. "Good. Let's join the boys, then."

Oliver's speech, which could essentially be summarised into the threat: win, or die trying, passed by in a blur, and before long, Rose had mounted her firebolt, had soared into the skies, and had come face to face with Cedric.

"Here we are again," Cedric observed, "Full circle."

"At least it's not raining this time," Rose acknowledged.

Indeed, the early summer day was bright and clear, with only the lightest of breezes, and scant clouds.

In essence, it was another perfect day for quidditch.

"That was rain?"

Rose chucklde. "Touche."

They idled for a time, floating lazily above the other players, before Cedric gave her a grin. "Let the best seeker win?"

"Of course," Rose agreed.

She rocketed away from him then, intercepted Hufflepuff plays when she could, and scanned for the snitch when she couldn't. The scores climbed, Oliver was on his A-game, and at the end of things, as the snitch's wings fluttered in her hand, as the Gryffindor team surrounded her, Rose grinned, satisfied.

Professor McGonagall offered Oliver the quidditch cup, someone conjured red and gold confetti over their heads, and before long, the celebrations had been taken to the Gryffindor common room. Rose herself lingered, gaze on the quidditch pitch, and she smiled.

"Good game?"

She grinned. "Yeah, Cedric. No hard feelings?"

"Not at all," Cedric answered. He slung an arm over Rose's shoulders, and led the way towards the castle. "Between you and me, I'm just glad Slytherin didn't get their hands on it. I was getting really tired of Flint's attitude."

"Ugh, tell me about it," Rose agreed, laughing. "Will you come to the party?"

"Would I be welcome?"

"I invited you, didn't I?"

With that logic, Cedric joined the Gryffindor house party, where Rose was hailed a legend, where Oliver was farewelled with fire whisky and toasts, and where Percy caught Fred and George snogging Angelina and Alicia, respectively. The party itself didn't end until the early hours of the following morning, and Rose had lost sight of Cedric somewhere over the course of the night, but when she woke again, it was nearly midday, most of the house was still asleep, and Cedric wasn't the only non-Gryffindor passed out in the common room. They didn't really have time to laze around though, because the end of term feast was that evening, and the students would be departing the following morning.

With that in mind, Rose spent a great deal of her day packing and cleaning, and making promises to write to friends Rose hadn't realised she'd had. She returned library books she'd borrowed, and some clothes from friends, too, and by the time the feast rolled around, Rose was tired, and ready for bed.

"Are you ready?" Nora enquired.

Rose straightened out the hat on her head, nodded with a grimace, and followed her friend towards the Great Hall. It was a formal occasion, of course, which called for the formal uniform - hat and all - and as she reached the entrance hall, she consoled herself with the knowledge that she wasn't the only one who would look like a dunce tonight. The wizard's equivalent lacked the brim - a cap, more than anything - and when she caught sight of Cedric, she laughed.

"It suits you," she quipped.

Cedric rolled his eyes, tugged downwards on the brim of her own hat, and laughed when it covered her eyes. "Yours does too, Rose."

She pouted. "Git."

He shrugged. "That's me."

The feast came and went, Ravenclaw won the house cup, and after a night of dreamless sleep, Rose boarded the Hogwarts Express, settled in a compartment with Nora, and cast her gaze out the window.

"Another year gone," she sighed, "It's sad to go, yeah?"

"Yeah," Nora agreed, "It'll be nice to go home, though."

Rose nodded too, eager to go home to the Tates to Alastair and Jean, and to Sirius as well, and to the holidays awaiting her there. She might have been leaving HOgwarts, but Rose would be back again, and as the Hogwarts Express past by the Scottish countryside, she smiled.

All was well.

**Author's Note:** The end of an arc, methinks. A temporary hiatus, and then fourth year. Perhaps in September? Mildly appropriate.

Thanks for reading. Hope it was worth it.

Until September, -t.


End file.
